Difficulty Engaged
by KLMeri
Summary: During leave, trouble thwarts a good plan and causes Kirk and Spock to accelerate the timeline of their McCoy-centric agenda. But true to form, McCoy is already playing by a set of rules they don't understand. K/S/M. - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Title**: Difficulty Engaged (1/?)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek AOS  
**Pairing**: Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
**Summary**: During leave, trouble thwarts a good plan and causes Kirk and Spock to accelerate the timeline of their McCoy-centric agenda. But true to form, McCoy is already playing by a set of rules they don't understand.

* * *

When the crowd lessens the first time, McCoy hopes he has found his way from this maze-like waystation. But to his dismay, he quickly discovers he has instead reached one of the night-zone areas, a row of clubs and bars meant to entice shop-weary travelers to indulge in refreshments and a different kind of entertainment. The gangways ahead are a ghost town during day hours, the establishments lining the walls unmistakably closed. So, with reluctance, he turns back and finds himself once more rejoining the blend of local residents, tourists, and shoppers of the main thoroughfare.

"Should of stayed on the ship," he mutters to himself.

He jerks to a stop when the press of beings turns suddenly to a confused cluster. Lifting up slightly, he spies the problem: no one can pass a gigantic hovercart stalled across the path. Alongside many others, Leonard eventually elbows his way to freedom, darting into another stream of traffic that forms a braid steadily between the tables and fountains in the central plaza. By the time the stream ferries him into the next section of the station, he feels so thoroughly turned around, he takes a seat on the nearest bench.

As much as Leonard hates to admit it, he's lost.

He had only wanted to explore a little on his own, the purpose being there wouldn't be any noses but his own poking into his business. Who knew a Vulcan could be so interested in every artifact or trinket McCoy gave a passing glance? It's as if Spock had been trying to analyze Leonard's tastes, which of course is complete and utter _nonsense_. Why would Spock—a sometimes-friend and a more frequent irritation—want to know his likes and dislikes? Surely the Vulcan criticizes him plenty already!

A secret little part of McCoy is pleased; mostly that part of him which he often tries to keep quiet because it also tends to acknowledge when he crosses the line from arguing to flirting (although it's doubtful to Leonard that Spock with his literal-mindedness has picked up on this change).

McCoy harrumphs, then, grudgingly also admitting to himself in that moment a pair of pointed ears would be a welcome sight. There are so many varied and colorful individuals milling about, Starfleet uniforms are simply another splotch in the melee. But those ears! Leonard could pick them out of a crowd for certain.

For the umpteenth time, Leonard gropes for the communicator he had forgotten to bring along. At this rate, he will have to ask a patrolman for help, who will probably herd him to Lost & Found like a wayward child and call up the Enterprise to come and get him. Good grief, if Jim hears about it—or worse yet ends up being the one to retrieve him!—Leonard won't be able to look the man in the eyes for at least a month.

_Not an option_, he decides.

Leonard is an intelligent adult who generally has a decent sense of direction. By god, he will find the way back himself even if it takes all blasted day!

A shadow falls across him, then, of a delicate, humanoid shape. A female, McCoy sees when he looks up, standing only a couple arm lengths away.

She smiles sweetly at him. "Could you help me?"

He jumps to his feet. "Ma'am?"

"I think I'm lost!"

Leonard flushes. "Well, I—I'm not the best fellow to assist you," he explains with regret. "Frankly I'm not sure of where I am, either."

"Oh," she says before adding kindly, "I understand… but perhaps two may discover a solution where one cannot?"

He dips his head slightly. "Where are you trying to get to?"

"My cousin's ship." She lifts a small fabric bag for him to see. "I came to shop and soon found myself carried away. The time to return is past." As she says this, she seems to shrink with helplessness while looking around. "Except I cannot determine which direction I must go! This station is so big."

"And crowded to the point of confusion," he adds, rueful.

She steps toward him, echoing a similar sentiment.

It's his natural inclination to help, and so he offers a hand. "I'm Leonard."

She appears to know the Terran custom of shaking hands. "Your outfit is a uniform, correct? But it is not familiar to me."

He taps the insignia on his tunic. "I serve in Starfleet. I'm a doctor."

"Starfleet," she repeats with a lilt. "Then it is my good fortune to have met you, Leonard of Starfleet. I am Ruti."

"Nice to meet you too, Ruti. Shall we see if we can't find a map or a directory?"

In charity together, Leonard and his new companion leave the bench in their wake.

* * *

"You lost him," Jim Kirk summarizes, locking gazes with the man standing stiffly opposite him.

"Not precisely, Captain."

Jim waves away the formality—and Spock's disinclination to own any fault for their current situation. "Spock," he says with a sigh, proceeding to choose his words with care, "can you guess where he could have gone?"

"Remarkably few opportunities were available to observe which items held the Doctor's interest, therefore I highly doubt any guess would be sufficiently accurate."

Jim almost retorts, "Guesses don't need to be precise," but knows the futility of saying so to a Vulcan.

Spock goes on, "I suspect he was aware of my scrutiny."

Kirk pinches the bridge of his nose, then. He should have gone with the pair; would have, in fact, if it hadn't been for that last-minute conference Komack had all but ordered him to attend.

After a moment of silence, he decides, "All right, here's what we are going to do. First thing, forget the mission."

Spock's brows pinch together. "Jim."

Kirk refuses to be swayed. "There'll be another opportunity—unless we don't recover Bones at all, which is why finding him takes priority." Spock doesn't argue that point, but then again Jim does not expect him to when the logical approach is so obvious. He steps off the gangplank that connects his ship to the port and passes Spock. "Second, I'm not taking the chance we lose each other. No splitting up under _any_ circumstances."

"Acknowledged." Spock pivots around, falling into step with him. "Although clearly it would be more befitting for Dr. McCoy to be made aware of this directive."

He slants a look at the Vulcan. "Don't get cute with me. I was looking forward to the next few days—and now we're out the main attraction!"

"That is not a statement I would repeat to our 'attraction'."

Jim snorts as they cross the invisible border between the docking sector and the main station. "If only Bones knew how smitten you are. Lucky for you, mister, I'm a brilliant tactician."

"Also a single one."

Kirk draws up short to spin around. "Spock!" His mock affront dissolves almost instantly into delighted laughter. He admits between laughs, "You're right. I've tried for years to catch McCoy's interest and have nothing to show for it!" He sobers slightly. "But I _know_ this time will be different."

Spock arches an eyebrow.

"Because we're a great team," he answers the unspoken question.

"I am flattered, Jim, but more so curious that you intend to resolve a failed courtship by leveraging a potential rival as a partner."

"Should we fight over him instead?" Jim not-quite-demands.

"I would not recommend it," comes the dry response. "You are familiar with the _kal-if-fee_."

At Jim's arrested expression, Spock adds, "But consider evolution in your favor. Were my mannerisms more in keeping with those of my territorial ancestors, there would be nothing so coordinated or civilized. I would simply tear off your arms—" here, the Vulcan's gaze flicks lower, "—among other appendages—for coveting my chosen."

Jim wets his bottom lip, eyes wide. "That's a remarkably violent statement for a pacifist."

"I do not always think like a pacifist."

He suppresses a shudder, muttering, "And that's why we're sharing."

Better not to follow that train of thought either, Kirk chastises himself. He takes a step back, then another, before turning around and heading off again.

However, Spock doesn't appear to think their little chat is concluded, remarking with unusual casualness, "I imagine the reasoning behind your proposition is more complex than the mere desire to share."

Kirk's stride falters just briefly, allowing his Vulcan officer to smoothly catch up to him.

"What is your secondary motive?"

Jim keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the path ahead. "No secondary motive."

"Then, your secondary plan?"

Jim clears his throat to force a tiny bubble of hysteria to subside. "No secondary plan, Spock."

"I see."

A phrase which sounds very much like Spock, in fact, sees and accurately guesses at _too_ much, thinks his captain.

"Bones," Jim reminds Spock kind of helplessly when they reach the first security zone. "There's no plan without Bones."

Spock inclines his head ever-so-slightly. "Affirmative."

Then, without warning, Spock decides to take the lead of their two-person party, expertly maneuvering them through Security without much of an acknowledgment from the port authority, who seem to recognize a man not to be trifled with. Outside the zone, Spock immediately doubles their pace, plowing straight into the dense foot traffic. The Vulcan doesn't wait to see if Jim is following but Jim does, helpless not to.

Though he had hedged in his answers to Spock, he does have a deeply personal stake in the success of their mission. Because without Spock there is no McCoy and vice versa. For Jim, this bet is all or nothing, and his heart knows it.

* * *

McCoy has that set to his mouth that Jim claims is his Stubborn Southern showing. As if that makes a lick of sense, but then Jim Kirk did also handpick the nickname Bones. Leonard has learned to put up with a great many things for the sake of their friendship.

"I know that restaurant's around here somewhere," he mutters as he turns in a circle, rubbing his fingers across his forehead in contemplation. "Spock and I had lunch there." Since the restaurant staff was friendly enough serving two Starfleet officers, Leonard figures they would also be willing to give directions.

Ruti simply stares up at him with wide gold-flecked eyes, clearly willing to let him take charge. Not that he blames the poor thing, because he doesn't want to make the decisions either, especially given that his being-in-charge so far has only brought them more confusion.

Luck must be with them, though, for at last he spies the sign belonging to the restaurant. "There it is!" he declares, and they quickly cut across the plaza toward it. "Thank goodness. I was this close to flagging down a patrol officer."

"How embarrassing," Ruti teases.

"You bet!" he laughs. A formal escort back to the ship is exactly what he wants to avoid, or otherwise everyone will certainly know he couldn't find the way back by himself. That would only lend fuel to the fire, meaning that he's already had plenty of Spock and Jim dogging his steps as of late. And the two boneheads refuse to explain why, sliding around his questions like slick politicians under interrogation.

The smell of spices simmering reaches Leonard's nose. An opaque door slides back as a large group exits the restaurant just as they arrive, forcing Leonard and Ruti to press back against the building wall to avoid becoming entangled in the party. Leonard hurries forward to catch the door after the last man but to his surprise Ruti sails past him, bypassing the main entrance in favor of a smaller door set inconspicuously at the juncture between the restaurant and the upscale hostel beside it.

"I know someone here!" she calls over to him, seeming excited. She keys a code into the doorlock, and after a few seconds of waiting, darts into the building when the door unlocks.

Leonard has a moment of apprehension, eyeing the distance between the restaurant which he knows and the entranceway, left partially open, which he does not. He steps out of the restaurant's doorway with reluctance and slowly approaches the other door.

Up to that point, he and Ruti had wandered the complex much like curious tourists, laughing at their own inability to distinguish one direction from another. It wasn't until he had taken note of the late hour from a nearby newsfeed that urgency finally pressed upon him, prompting him to seriously consider asking for assistance. Someone would soon be ordered to search for him, for the final check-in has almost passed and he never requested an overnight stay on the station.

He takes a few steps toward the entranceway, hesitates, and glances at the crowded gangway behind him. No uniforms in those crowds that he can see, no familiar face he can readily identify.

Ruti's head and shoulders appear around the door. "Oh, but this is a good turn of fortune indeed! The owner has recognized me. I shall contact my cousin. Would you like to wait out here, Leonard, or come inside?"

He hesitates again. "I really need to be gettin' back."

She seems accepting of this answer, sticking her head back inside a moment before reappearing. "There is a map he says you can use—or should we call for a patrol officer?"

"Map," Leonard chooses quickly.

"A moment," Ruti says. "I will fetch it."

He shuffles closer to the building. When more time passes than should be necessary for Ruti to return, he finally steps up to the door, peeking inside. An arm whips out of the dark hall and snags the front of his tunic, jerking him over the threshold. In that moment, as McCoy cries out in alarm, he is struck by two things: the force of the sudden assault and his own stupidity in failing to recognize an obvious trap.

But then there's no more time for thinking with a huge alien looming over him who rumbles the warning, "Do not try to run," as it snicks its claws together with menace. From the back of the hallway, Ruti looks on, her expression suitably grim.

"What the hell are you doing!" Leonard snaps, his efforts to twist free making his captor let go of his uniform and grab his throat instead. He gasps as the alien effortlessly lifts him up until the toes of his boots barely brush the ground.

"Requesting your help," Ruti replies. "Chee, bring him."

Somehow, McCoy very much doubts Ruti and her brutish companion understand the concept of a request. He's dragged the rest of the way inside, too preoccupied with the grip crushing his airway to fight back. The door to the outside slams shut with a resounding echo.

_Oh hell_, Leonard thinks, part in consternation, part in fear, _I should have stuck with the nosy Vulcan._

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Part Two

The alien called Chee shoves Leonard nearly headfirst into a teetering junk pile inside a cramped storage room, then wrenches him back again when the heap collapses at their feet.

Being jerked around doesn't suit Leonard at all, and so he levels a glare at his captor. "I'm a doctor, not a rag doll! Where are we going? Make up your damned mind!"

Ruti breezes past McCoy's shoulder. "You lack common sense to speak so rudely to someone twice your size."

"And _you_ wouldn't know anything about rudeness," Leonard retorts hotly.

She pauses to turn around and peruse him. "Your anger… Pretense to cover fear? Yes, you feel vulnerable."

Leonard tries to shake off Chee's grip but fails. "I _am_ angry! Anybody would be at being manhandled like a sack of potatoes and then threatened for good measure!"

"There is no time for politeness."

"Horseshit." McCoy's eyebrows knit together. "You don't have to do this, and you know it."

Ruti steps toward him, then. "But I do, Doctor."

She signals to Chee, who drags Leonard around another leaning junk tower to the darkest corner of the room. There, a form takes shape out of the dark, lying prone across several crates pushed together as a makeshift cot. The humanoid has his face turned to the wall. Even if Leonard's eyesight had not already adjusted to the darkness well enough to make out the scrapes and bruises, the torn clothing, and bloody knuckles, he would have instinctively known the man is injured.

When he shakes Chee off a second time, he is released. Kneeling beside the cot, he gently turns the slack face toward him. No protest, no reaction—not from McCoy's captors or the injured being.

"How long has he been like this?"

"She," corrects Ruti softly, "has been unresponsive for nearly two solar days."

"A fight?" he questions, inspecting the surface wounds he can see. "What kind of weapons?"

"I cannot answer that."

Leonard jerks his head up, fixing a look of disapproval upon her. "Think twice before you choose to be unforthcoming. What I don't know could be more damning to my treating her injuries than you could believe possible."

"Then you intend to heal her?"

Leonard's gaze flicks over to the giant Chee. "I doubt I have a choice, but I'll try my best." Yes, he would help even if they suddenly decided to dump him into the plaza again. He has never willingly turned his back on the wounded.

Ruti says, "The medkit, Chee, and hurry." When the hulking beast disappears, her attention returns to Leonard. "You appear intelligent enough to know what will happen if you try to trick us and escape." Her gaze is considering despite the harsh words. "But while you treat her, you will come to no harm. And if you can save her life, I promise you this: you will be set free."

He chooses not to contend with her over future events, more concerned with the problem lying unconscious in front of him. "I need more light in this room to work. And extra sheets. Fold them if you can. Makes it easier to change them later so we don't disturb her wounds." He pauses after that brusque set of instructions to frown at Ruti. "Well? I know you're not deaf."

"You _are_ a doctor," she confirms, almost wonderingly.

McCoy snorts. "This insignia isn't a merit badge." His snort changes to a huff. "Besides, now you're an honorary nurse. Him too," he adds, jerking his chin at the return of Chee, who stomps up to him and shoves a battered-looking medkit under his nose with a grunt.

Ruti moves to Chee's side and says something to him in an undertone using a language Leonard doesn't know or can easily replicate. Chee growls, "We have none in this place, but I shall find some," and trudges away again.

Leonard simply shakes his head. Ruti kneels near him, taking hold of his patient's hand. The act speaks of an intimacy he deliberately pretends to be obtuse to and settles on inspecting the medkit's contents. Removing a bottle, he says, "Here," and places it next to Ruti. "This sterilizes the skin. Use some on your hands first, and then clean her cuts carefully."

Next, retrieving a small handheld scanner of a model dated back at least a decade but thankfully still functional, he adjusts the device to a broad spectrum. A soft whirring sound fills the space as it begins to pick up readings.

Ruti says, "We haven't much time."

"She definitely doesn't have time," he agrees, dismayed at the growing list of results in the scanner's feed. "There's been internal hemorrhaging. You're lucky she isn't dead."

"I speak of my cousin's ship."

He glances up. "What you said wasn't a complete lie, then?"

She cannot miss the sarcasm in his words but she seems to ignore it. Her stare, fixed on the patient's face, is troubled. "When he arrives, she _will_ die—by his hand."

That sounds like a family problem McCoy doesn't want to get mixed up in. "What you mean is, y'all have to be gone by then."

"Regardless of her injuries." Ruti looks away briefly. When she turns to Leonard, she repeats, "If you save her, you will be set free."

Somehow, Leonard doesn't find that reassurance at all comforting. But he says nonetheless, "Then help me."

Surprisingly, Ruti does.

* * *

Jim is rattled, and Spock cannot regret being the cause of that.

When Kirk first approached him with a concise (clearly rehearsed) explanation of why they should create a partnership to better determine how to win Leonard McCoy's affections, Spock was well aware the motivation behind such a unique proposal was not simple in nature. An acquaintance might assume lust had overridden forethought and discretion, given that Kirk has never been shy concerning the pleasures of the flesh. But a friend who knows the man would also know Jim is too smart to sate a trifling desire at the cost of a friendship, not McCoy's, not Spock's.

No, to warrant _these_ actions—the caution, the deep consideration, and the detailed planning—the man's true purpose is evident, even to one still learning to interpret human behavior such as Spock: Jim Kirk is in love.

Therefore, how could Spock not read between the lines of their agreed-upon arrangement? He knows of love, its peculiarities, and purely illogical facets. Often those bound by love think nothing of taking profound risks, as Jim wishes to do—as Spock himself is doing. This 'mission' (as Kirk so fondly refers to their mutual objective) is not about asking a friend to assist in swaying McCoy's heart. Jim is asking Spock to allow him to love McCoy, to simultaneously share in Spock's love for McCoy and, finally, to love Spock the same way.

No aspect of which would be a great hardship. The plan is reasonable, equitably balanced, and deeply satisfying.

But of course humans appear to have difficulty acknowledging what they truly desire, presenting instead some thinned-down, socially acceptable version of their needs to any party whose judgment carries weight. Yet Spock cannot imagine why Jim feels he is unable to accept the truth, but an odd instinct has prevented Spock from pressing for a reason too deeply, at least for the moment. In actuality, there _is_ someone who can cut past Kirk's pretenses without reserve or regret. That man stands at the core of Jim and Spock's union.

And is also missing. Unfortunately.

"There," Jim declares, pointing ahead. "He has to be over there!"

Spock's dark eyes locate the sign that despite the distance is easy enough to read, being brightly lit in garish red and flashing with regularity to project the claim, _Free Booze_.

He arches one eyebrow. "Captain, you do realize Dr. McCoy is not an alcoholic. He rarely imbibes outside of social encounters."

"You didn't meet him _before_ he got over his divorce."

Spock acknowledges the prick of a moment's annoyance. "Jim."

Jim huffs, an amused sound. "At ease, Spock. I'm not attempting to malign Bones' good character." He glances away, then back again, before proceeding to pick a circuitous path toward the lounge beneath the sign. "Bones makes a hobby of trying off-brand liquors. We should try looking at places that are highly regarded for their wide selections."

That suggestion makes more sense. Spock detaches the small personal data padd from his uniform that he had been using to record his observations of McCoy earlier that day. A quick search yields interesting results.

"That establishment appears to be in _low_ regard. One patron has commented that the free offerings 'taste of horse-piss'." His other eyebrow climbs upward to join its twin. "Apparently the topless dancers negate this travesty."

Jim immediately switches their direction. "So, striking _that_ from the list. Your turn. Where else can we look?"

Spock taps the screen for a few seconds. "There are places which fit your suggestion, but most do not open for another three hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-one point one seconds. One of them has been closed down by the local authorities after a raid of their illegal gambling ring, and the only remaining choice is known to be run by a high-ranking member of the Rigellan mob. Fascinating."

Kirk comes to a standstill, raking fingers through his hair. Then he and Spock have to react quickly to sidestep a large alien shoving unmindfully through the throng of tourists and shoppers, whereupon Kirk's gaze sharpens with annoyance and trails after the offender until he has vanished from their sight.

Oddly, however, when Jim's attention returns to Spock, the look in his eyes inexplicably bleak. "If Bones isn't secluded in a bar somewhere, then… I don't know. Spock, my mind goes nowhere else." Kirk sighs through his nose. "Sad, isn't it? That his best friend can't figure him out."

Perhaps this is a hint as to why Jim seems reluctant to express the totality of his feelings. He isn't certain he is a fit for McCoy—or Spock?

Spock is confident in saying, "I do not believe this scenario is evidence to support that conjecture. Nor do I support that statement in general, which is hardly logical given the fact Dr. McCoy himself has said you know him best."

"You always know the right thing to say, Spock," Jim replies, a hint of a smile in his voice.

Spock does not think so, but he recognizes the remark for what it is, a tacit request for advice. And so he gives exactly that, as their next step seems plainly obvious. "By no means is our goal impossible, Jim, as naturally…" The Vulcan breaks off to look around, spies what he is searching for, and without preamble heads toward it. "The best solution is the simplest one."

Soon, he arrives abreast of a short, rotund Terran in conversation with a civilian gesticulating effusively at a storefront and politely calls, "Excuse me, Officer."

When Jim finally catches up to Spock, his reaction surprises Spock: an unexpected leap between Spock and his quarry in the same moment the patrolman turns to Spock. The human has a small edible lifted halfway to his mouth, no doubt taken from the small plastic sack sticking out of the top of his pants pocket.

"We have lost our companion," Spock says, only to have his explanation loudly overridden by Jim interjecting, "_Sorry_ to bother you, Officer! As you were!" while snapping up a handful of Spock's tunic to yank Spock aside.

The officer looks at them in confusion.

As Jim is pivoting Spock away, Spock successfully disengages the grip on his clothing with a defense maneuver Kirk had once used during a sparring session and completes the full turn to once again face the patrol officer. "Sir," he repeats, "we have lost our companion and wish to request a search party of—"

"_Mister_ Spock."

Spock closes his mouth at his captain's snapping tone and twists at the waist to find Jim with an expression torn between anger and disbelief and the color deepening in his face.

Then, with a _plunk_, the edible falls from their audience's suddenly trembling fingers to the sidewalk. The officer is gaping, but it isn't Spock he is staring at.

"_Captain_ Kirk?" the man gasps.

Another sharper voice remarks, "What did you say? Kirk?" The civilian leans into sight from around the gawking officer, the hallmarks of irritation replaced by excitement. "_By Whixspittle's Purse_, it is him!"

The patrolman lurches forward and grabs both of Jim's hands. "It's an honor, sir! A real honor!"

Others nearby have taken note of the scene; some curious bystanders begin to drift closer for a better look.

With a tight smile, Jim surreptitiously works to free his hands. "Yes, hello there."

Spock asserts, "We need your assistance," somewhat bemused by the unexpected turn in the conversation.

The officer looks to him, then, as if finally aware he exists, before slowly turning back to Kirk and snapping to attention. "Captain, I am at your service!" he bellows, and Spock experiences momentary regret as the sound nearly deafens him.

"What can I do to assist you?" the officer then begs.

Spock decidedly does not approve of the human's smitten tone and points out, "You could release his hands."

The fellow glances down, gasps then flushes and finally lets his silent captive go with an embarrassed declaration of "My deepest apologies!"

Kirk lowers his arms to his sides. "It's all right, no harm done." The fleeting glance he gives Spock is filled with resignation, though his tone remains deceptively measured. "Forgive us for our intrusion."

The civilian slides all the way out from behind the officer, grinning broadly. "A visit from the poster boy of Starfleet. Why this almost makes a terrible day good again!" He produces a data padd out of nowhere. "Can I have your autograph, Captain?"

The patrolman flushes a second time and bats the civilian aside. "Don't pester the Captain, Murtee! Go back to your shop."

"Autographs are a lucrative business," retorts Murtee the shop owner. "And I've already been ousted from a decent profit today by that little flitflat thief who stole two of my bestsellers. _You_ stop pestering him, and find _her_!"

The officer rounds on the shop owner then. "Every day you say someone steals from you when what's really going on is you sold those 'missing' wares out your back door. Then you come to _me_ so you can claim a loss and a tax break!"

Murtee's eyes bug out, his four antennae wobbling with outrage. "A-Are you calling me a cheat, Huido? I'm NOT LYING! I told you, some cutsie little flitflat—!"

Jim catches Spock's arm and draws him quietly backward. This time Spock goes with him, as it is readily apparent dealing with these… fans… will be more of a distraction than a boon in finding the errant McCoy.

"You're a cheat _and_ a bad friend!" Officer Huido flings his arms wide, yelling now. "I don't have time for this! I have a decorated starship captain who needs my—"

"You noodle-brained ungrateful sack of Human!' snarls his friend at full volume. "YOU DON'T DESERVE MY PRECIOUS NOUGATS!"

With an alarmingly high-pitched shriek, the shopkeeper snatches at the sack of edibles from his friend's pocket. In retaliation, Huido delivers a nasty kick to Murtee's shin, then clings for dear life to his end of the sack. Thus abused, the sack tears open during the resulting tug-of-war, and nougat pieces go flying everywhere.

"Hurry!" Jim whispers with urgency now, and Spock sees why. Beyond the gathering onlookers, more port officers are tumbling out of a hovercraft in their haste to reach the fighting pair, who have gone from shoving each other to flinging things alongside their colorful curses—nougats, foliage, unrecycled trash.

Kirk and Spock divest themselves of the situation quickly, diving past parties of people until they are able to whip around a corner into a narrow passageway between two buildings. There Jim stops, planting a hand against a wall, breathing in gulps of air. Spock shifts to block the view of him, should anyone be curious enough to stop and stare.

"Jim?" he questions.

Kirk straightens up, his breathing calmed but a tinge of lingering hoarseness in his voice from breathing hard. "Okay, let's not do that again."

"How did you know…?" Spock pauses, uncertain of how to phrase his question without giving offense, but it appears he doesn't need to.

Jim finishes, "How did I know making a simple request would cause ridiculous fanfare?" The man sighs. "I've already turned down several invitations for a meet-and-greet with the Chief of Port and his eager staff. Word would have spread by now."

Spock stills. "You did not mention this."

Kirk's fist falls away from the wall, his tone softening. "We're Starfleet, Spock. Our reputations will always proceed us, even off-duty. Well, so much for a pitstop-turned-vacation."

Spock doubts his own reputation is of much consequence, considering that the patrol officer failed to notice him, but it is logical that Jim, whose name has already become famous (and in some places notorious) across the galactic quadrants, would have a different experience.

"I regret that I did not consider the possibility," he says.

Jim steps forward, giving the Vulcan's shoulder a brief squeeze. "I prefer you don't think that way. I want to be an ordinary guy to you."

_Impossible_, determines Spock. There is nothing ordinary in who Jim is to Spock, from his captain to his friend to potentially more. But he keeps that thought private for now.

"C'mon," Kirk says, stepping around Spock to the mouth of the alley, "let's find Bones before something truly bad happens."

"Such as?"

"Someone plastering my face across the news dockets," Jim murmurs, who then does a full body shake like a canine shedding water, as though that remark is an unwelcome omen.

"If we cannot use public resources to identify Dr. McCoy's whereabouts," Spock muses as they try to blend inconspicuously back into the foot traffic, "perhaps we can use our own." He pulls out his padd. "I will modify this device's locator app to function similarly to that of a tricorder."

"You'd have to know the code makeup of Bones' bio-signature."

"I do."

Jim looks at him askance. "Are you serious?"

"I do not joke, Jim."

After a moment, his captain blinks. "Mine too?"

"Affirmative."

Kirk chokes, then, but says nothing else.

Spock breaks from the crowd to settle on a bench. Jim doesn't sit down too, instead flanking the bench with arms crossed, no doubt appointing himself watch-guard while Spock is occupied.

The program code and adjoining mathematics come with familiar ease, giving Spock time to consider other aspects of this current predicament and his work at the same time. Jim is correct, of course, usually is when his intuition comes to play: he and Spock are at their best when partnered, and Spock has no doubts that their mission will end successfully, however many layers and nuances that mission takes. Some might think it arrogant of Spock to assume that failure is impossible, but in this matter, he makes use of intuition of his own.

The doctor is fascinated with him, though McCoy must think Spock too obtuse to pick up the hints. The captain is clearly offering his heart to him, though Jim also thinks Spock too obtuse to recognize this. Easy enough to forgive both for that obtuseness, but also easy enough to use it to his advantage.

But first, the key component has to be retrieved—and where Leonard McCoy has gotten to, this modified little program will reveal to them soon.


	3. Part Three

McCoy sits back, noting the ominous creak of the chair that had been unearthed from one of the junk piles for him to use and feeling lucky that it held his weight through the last procedure. His gaze slides over his patient a final time, confirming she's still breathing, before settling on the flickering light from an old standing lamp nearby.

"If she makes it through the next twenty-four hours, the prognosis isn't too bad," he says quietly. The tiredness in his own voice stirs him some, prompts him to massage a cramped back muscle, the result of being stuck in a hunched position for too long. "Her recovery needs to be monitored."

Across from him, Ruti says nothing.

Leonard surmises, "So that's a _no_ to relocating to a medical facility. I can see how much she matters to you. Is remaining hidden really worth risking her life?"

"I told you, Doctor, that her life will be over should my cousin find us. And he _will_ check the local wards."

"Then he knows she is injured," Leonard replies sharply. "Because he's the one who hurt her?"

"The less you know, the better."

"Not from where I'm sitting."

"He will kill you too and think nothing of it."

"Sounds like a real gem," mutters the doctor. "Believe me, I fully understand there's danger here but, lady," he says, his irritation on the rise again, "you seem to have forgotten that you've already dragged me into it."

"Master will kill her," a gruff voice comes from behind McCoy.

"Chee, silence!" Ruti barks, snapping to her feet.

Leonard twists around to stare at Chee. "Did you say _Master_?"

Chee grunts, which seems to be his way of agreeing. "Master's wife," he says, pointing to McCoy's patient, "has betrayed him. We left with her, therefore we will die too."

"_Be silent._"

It isn't the frightening undertone to Ruti's command that has Leonard coming out of his chair. No, it's Chee's instant reaction. In concern, Leonard rushes to the fellow, who has grabbed his head and doubled over. Just when he's within an arm's reach, Chee straightens up, breathing hard, fighting the visible tremor in his limbs. The hardness to Chee's gaze draws Leonard up short like being doused with a bucket of ice water.

No, he shouldn't try to touch this person, this captor. Both of them, he reminds himself, are strangers to him and very, very unpredictable.

He asks Chee despite these reservations, "Are you okay?"

Chee grunts, pivots around and marches from the room.

Leonard stares after him awhile before turning to Ruti. Her blank expression gives nothing away, which doesn't surprise him. He has to wonder, though, how Chee can look at Ruti with such hatred and yet follow her orders. He doesn't even retaliate when punished for not obeying.

Then McCoy's gaze drops to the unconscious woman breathing shallowly, miraculously alive despite the severity of her internal injuries, and knows the answer. Ruti and Chee don't like each other but they tolerate their current situation for _her_ sake.

_Who are you?_ he wants to ask. He doubts she is merely a runaway wife with a supposedly ruthless, homicidal husband.

"You say she needs to be monitored," Ruti interrupts his thoughts.

He starts to nod, only to realize why she brought that fact up. "You said you would let me go."

Ruti moves around the makeshift sickbed. "My Lady is not yet saved."

He closes his eyes, wishing for privacy to mourn the dashed hope of escaping unscathed, knowing he will continue to have his every move closely watched. _Doesn't matter_, he decides, opening his eyes to find Ruti standing uncomfortably close, staring directly into his face.

His patient needs a medical professional to look after her, and there's no one better to do so than the doctor who already started her treatment. "Damn it," he says, "you've got me."

"I know," his captor replies solemnly. "You choose well on your own."

Oh, he doesn't like the sound of that. "What happened to Chee just now, you caused that."

"Yes."

"Are you planning to inflict some torture on me too?"

"I do not wish to." Ruti draws back, then.

He hears the rest left hanging between them, unspoken: _But I will hurt you if necessary._

"So what do we do now?" he asks.

She looks past him, seeming to measure the troubles which lay in store for them behind that little room. "We find a way to leave."

His stomach tightens uncomfortably. "Leave the port? Do you have a ship?"

"I have a means to a ship."

The way Ruti stares at him makes him feel sick. He backs up. "You're crazy if you think I'll let you take the Enter—"

"Not _your_ ship," she cuts in, seeming annoyed. "What would I want with a Federation starship?"

Relief makes Leonard momentarily dizzy. He drops a hand to the top rung of the chair—and one of the chair legs finally snaps in half and the whole thing tilts. Startled, he stumbles sideways with it until a large hand grabs his shoulder and shoves him upright again.

Chee has returned.

"Thanks," Leonard says, then frowns when Chee doesn't let him go.

"The container is here," Chee tells Ruti.

"You paid them extra?"

"Yes. But they will not ask questions no matter the amount of payment." Chee bares his teeth. "I told them I would split open their heads if they did."

Leonard looks between the two, his paranoia kicking into full gear. "Wait a minute. We're leaving _now_?"

Ruti inclines her head.

His temper sparks. "I only just finished patching her insides back together! That woman needs to _rest_!"

Ruti seems amused by his hollering, as if he is a child throwing a petty tantrum.

"You two are out of your goddamn minds," he snarls.

"You have two options before you, Dr. McCoy. The container can hold two people, but you will undoubtedly find the enclosed space not to your liking."

"And the second option?"

"Chee and I will escort you through the station." She steps around him, following that with a warning. "The second option is the more dangerous of the two because it will tempt you to act foolishly. If you are foolish, Doctor, you are dead."

Yeah, no. No way in hell will he willingly climb into a box. It would be as good as climbing into his coffin. "I choose the danger," he says.

Chee lets go of him, and Ruti indicates Leonard should follow her. He looks back into the room only once, to a disconcerting sight: Chee, despite his roughness and meat-headed manners, very carefully collecting the mysterious Lady into his arms as though she is the most precious object in the galaxy.

But then again, Leonard supposes she must be special. There's no telling the kind of crimes Ruti and Chee have committed so far on her behalf. Kidnapping is likely the least damning of them.

"With me, Dr. McCoy," Ruti calls, and for a nanosecond, Leonard could swear her voice is in his head as well as his ears.

He obeys.

* * *

Spock's homemade scanner works eerily similar to any standard-issue tricorder. Jim commends him on that as they embark on their manhunt. Spock, per usual, is diligent and untiring in his inspection of their surroundings; the problem, however, lies with Jim. At times, he finds himself distracted by a growing complaint, one which he doesn't want to share with Spock quite yet. It's a nagging, an itch at the back of his neck he calls a 'red alert'.

As the signal pinpointing McCoy's whereabouts becomes increasingly more exact, so does Jim's feeling that trouble lies ahead. During their second year at Starfleet Academy, Jim had told Bones about this sensation he sometimes experiences, and Bones had snorted and said it sounded like an arthritis flare-up. "But you're not an old man yet, Jim, so I guess we'll call it intuition," his friend joked.

Yet Kirk's nose for danger has proven itself over the course of his captaincy, preventing some major disasters. After only a handful of instances of seeing Kirk's intuition in action, McCoy started taking his remarks seriously.

But red alert or otherwise, it seems like a silly thing to tell a Vulcan, especially one who is prone to requiring proof to substantiate a claim intangible in nature.

Jim would say to Spock, "My gut tells me we're headed into trouble."

Spock would likely reply, "Guts do not speak or experience feelings, Jim. When was your last physical?"

So that's that.

Kirk breathes steadily through his nose as he cuts a corner ahead of Spock, who is busy scanning the shopping district's crowded plaza, which to Jim seems more like an uncoordinated, open bazaar. His red alert has turned from an annoying itch to an unrelenting sting. He doesn't question the impulse to draw Spock to one side of the bazaar under a modicum of shelter.

A simple pitstop, Jim tells himself. That's all this is. "Spock, I don't see McCoy yet."

"He must be here." Spock slides a finger across his padd, then lifts his head like a dog catching a scent to look in a specific direction. "Calculations show—"

Kirk snaps to attention at a flash of color, the shade of blue very familiar. He grabs Spock's shoulder without thinking. "There!" An instant later, his joy turns to unease. "Hold on. Bones isn't alone."

Spock lowers the padd to his side. "It would seem so."

For a moment, Jim can only see the daintiness of McCoy's companion, the delicate way she lifts a hand to halt McCoy and another companion at the juncture of two market stalls.

_Too late_, he thinks, upset. They have found Bones too late, and now the best friend he's been secretly in love with for years has found someone more interesting.

"Jim."

Jim drags in a breath, plastering a tiny smile on his face as he faces Spock. "Looks like Bones made some friends." He doesn't like the way Spock is watching him, as though Spock knows the sour turn of his inner thoughts.

But he hasn't failed. _They_ haven't, Jim reminds himself firmly. Failure isn't to be contemplated until Leonard McCoy tells one or both of them to take a hike and keep any romantic aspirations to themselves.

His smile widens slightly with a hint of mischief. "Why don't we go over and introduce ourselves?"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "As fellow officers or romantic rivals?"

Jim grins. "That's what I like about you, Spock. You're so subtle."

"Jim, do you understand the meaning of—"

He barks out a laugh. "What I said and what I meant aren't—you know what, Spock? Never mind." Jim fixes his attention on the man across the plaza. He starts forward, skirting around people in his path to McCoy, Spock at his heels. "I'll explain it to you later, or Bones will."

As if hearing his name, McCoy faces away from his companions, his gaze skimming a shaded area past the market. Even from a distance, the set to McCoy's mouth is recognizable—and is what makes Jim's pace falter, then halt him altogether.

Spock stops too, looking first to Kirk then to McCoy. "Jim?"

Suddenly that red alert makes too much sense. "Spock, something's wrong. Bones doesn't look like that unless—" Jim bites off the rest of his explanation, swallowing it uncomfortably. "Something's wrong," he repeats adamantly, spurred now by his own startling observation to step in McCoy's direction once more.

This time, it's Spock who stops Kirk where he stands, taking a light hold of his arm. "A moment," murmurs the Vulcan, still staring ahead of them.

Jim wants to snap that if Bones is in trouble, they might not have a moment, but something in Spock's dark eyes arrests him, rallies the trust which naturally accompanies being with Spock or McCoy. How it's become ingrained in him to place everything he is behind those two sometimes baffles him; but he does so without hesitation, without thought, simply because they ask it of him.

This time is no different. Jim stills under Spock's hand, waiting.

Words begin to issue from Spock in monotone, an explanation or ritual or simply the Vulcanian way of marking an event of importance. Jim doesn't know which, but what he hears causes him to pay close attention.

"The awareness is always guarded. To draw back that veil is to invite in the chaos of the untrained, or those with little power. Every surface thought, every whim, becomes pitifully transparent." Spock draws in a sudden breath, an act so uncharacteristic that Jim tenses.

Spock's voice becomes strained. "Jim, there is so much information. Too much. It blinds!"

Kirk's heart begins to pound. When he shifts on his feet, Spock's grip turns suddenly painful.

"Stay," the Vulcan demands. "You must—my anchor—to resist."

Jim isn't certain he understands what Spock needs of him but he grows still again. "Be careful," he whispers, chilled by the prospect of Spock being crushed by the deluge of minds within the plaza.

Spock gives no indication of hearing him, echoing whatever internal process he is working through. "Where, where? Too many. Where is—" His grip on Jim relaxes. "_There_ he is. Obvious. Sunlit. A beautiful compassion. But I sense… unhappiness. Agitation. Fear."

In that moment Jim appreciates more than ever how well-trained Spock is as a telepath and how strong he must be to make use of his ability in any capacity beyond physical touch. He swallows hard. "Why is Bones afraid?"

Spock turns quiet, as if teasing out an answer from tangles of information. "The fear is not for himself."

Of course not, thinks Jim, though he is relieved. "Then there is an injury or a threat to someone under his care."

"Indubitably." Spock starts to sound more like himself. "However his current predicament came to be, his sense of duty ties him to it."

"It's up to us to untie him then," Jim states firmly. "I won't have my chief medical officer in danger." It seems crazy but Jim could swear Spock squeezes his arm ever-so-briefly in agreement. "Spock, what about the other two?"

"I sense more agitation and fear from the male. Deep anger. Thoughts of violence." The Vulcan stiffens, then.

Jim presses into his first officer's silence, "What is it?"

"Most unusual," Spock finally intones. "There is an emptiness in the mayhem. A void where there should be a mind. The female next to Dr. McCoy is mind-shielded."

"Another telepath." That thought gives him a solid explanation for his uneasiness. He decides, "Enough, Spock. Pull back."

"I could—"

"No, you're lucky not to have attracted her attention by now. Stop. That's an order."

Spock blinks and after a moment releases Jim's arm. He turns to Jim with his usual composure, expectant.

Jim checks, "Are you all right?"

"Of course."

He eyes the Vulcan speculatively but doesn't press further, instead choosing to indicate the humanoids across the plaza with a measure of grimness. "Thanks to you, we have the information we need. Enough to know those two are _not_ McCoy's friends. We intervene now, or follow them." He looks to Spock.

"The violence simmering in the male needs only an excuse to be unleashed."

"And by confronting them, Bones could be caught in the crossfire even if his companions have no ill intentions toward him." Jim's gaze finds McCoy again, judging the doctor's profile. "I'm loathed to jump in blind."

"Is that so?"

Jim cuts a narrowed gaze to Spock. "What are you insinuating?"

"I merely made a remark, Jim."

Jim's gaze narrows further, but when Spock simply stares back, he ends up being the one to back down. Huffing and rolling his shoulders to loosen tight muscles, Kirk dismisses that lost battle (it's a moot point since he rarely wins any argument with Spock anyway) and continues his musing aloud. "Why hasn't Bones called someone for help? Where are they going? And what will happen to Bones when that destination is reached?"

"Obviously the answer is to follow them."

"Yes, it is," Jim says softly, "but not without backup. Contact the ship, Spock. I want a team of our Security on the ground."

As Spock flips his communicator open, he says, "You do not wish to involve the port authorities. You do not trust them?"

"I trust my crew more." Jim jerks his chin in the direction of an archway between two shops not directly in the line of sight of McCoy or the pair with him. "Let's go."

Spock calls the Enterprise while they retrace their steps, taking an inconspicuous route around the perimeter of the plaza to the vantage point of Kirk's choice.


	4. Part Four

Leonard steps from the path of a vendor's cart whose owner seems more interested in running down shoppers rather than letting them peruse any wares, finally noticing that Ruti and Chee are several paces behind him. Neither one appears concerned about losing their charge in the crowd, however, or that said charge could use the opportunity to bolt.

He spins back to the pair. "Are you planning to loiter there all day, or can we get going?"

Chee eyes the human while scratching himself. "Food."

McCoy's eyes nearly bug out of his head. Surely he could not have heard correctly. They want to take the time to _eat?_

Ruti looks away from something in the nearest alleyway which had caught her attention to purse her mouth at Chee. "There will be food on the ship."

Chee grunts. "Spacer food tastes bad."

"God yes!" agrees Leonard emphatically without thinking, suddenly reminded of every bearly palatable replicated meal he has had to choke down over the last several years. Having time earlier to visit that cafe with Spock had felt like a godsend, if only because the fare there had been cooked in a pot instead by a mathematical formula.

He starts, then, realizing he cannot possibly be contemplating sitting down to dinner with a pair of kidnappers. What in hell is wrong with him?

Then again, any delay in being potentially forced onto a ship which isn't the Enterprise would be worth it. Leonard still hasn't figured out how he will convince Ruti to leave the space station without him. And while he doesn't like the idea of his patient being without medical aid, he also doesn't want to cause an intergalactic incident because his common sense went on vacation at the same time he did. He would be overly lucky if no one on the Enterprise has realized he is missing (and a hostage).

Not for the first time, he wonders how he will explain this predicament. It will certainly have to end in the admission that he walked into a trap Jim would have sniffed out in the first ten seconds of meeting Ruti and also made decisions along the way that Spock would have calculated as too risky from the start.

He isn't Jim or Spock, that much is apparent. Generally, that isn't a depressing thought but today it makes him feel like less. And the lecture he's going to receive for his idiocy can only serve to strengthen his disappointment in himself.

He shakes himself of any moroseness, deciding, "I'm with your friend here. We could grab a bite. You said your 'cargo' won't arrive at this mysterious ship ahead of us, so what's the rush?"

Ruti counters, "Consider not the rush, Dr. McCoy, but the danger. If my cousin—"

Chee slams one fist into the palm of his other hand. "I will rend his limbs from his body if I see him!"

Ruti's mouth flattens, yet she seems amused. "Chee's hunger often fuels his imprudence. Very well. A bite, as you say, Doctor, though we must be quick about it."

Leonard turns away, surveying the plaza for somewhere—anywhere—that might grant him an advantage. He doubts Ruti will allow them to dine in plain sight, but maybe he could covertly find a way to alert the authorities, something smarter than jumping onto a tabletop to scream bloody murder, only to be killed for the effort.

Just then, an odd thing happens, a sensation eerily like a touch. It rolls through Leonard, an invisible fingertip starting at the top of his spine and tracing its way down, lasting merely a heartbeat or two. He shudders upon exhaling, afterward strangely relaxed as though someone had calmed the instinct to be afraid through that simple caress. He also feels confused but is alert enough not to turn around. No one could be standing directly behind him, after all, and no one had physically touched him.

What just happened? Is he losing his mind?

And why does part of him want to feel that comforting caress again?

Chee shoulders Leonard aside, dispelling the vestiges of the sensation along with McCoy's mental fog, pointing at a sign that reads "Voted Supermarket of the Year. If You Want It, It's Here!" The interior of the market looks like a giant peddler's wagon.

Chee doesn't wait for a reaction, towing Leonard by the elbow to the entrance. With no choice except to go along, albeit sputtering, Leonard is shocked when Ruti catches up to them and doesn't whack her companion upside the head.

Instead, the woman snorts delicately. "Let us hope it is sanitary," she says before following Chee inside.

"Wait a minute!" Leonard protests, more unnerved by the suspicious stares of customers and sellers alike than the failing health grade posted next to the doorway. "Is this a good—" He bites off the last word with a yelp, being dumped in front of a food bar inlaid with containers where a customer might help himself to whichever delight he desires.

A purple slug inches over the top of one container and inspects Leonard's hand with one of its antennae. Chee plucks it up and drops it into his mouth with a satisfied smack.

"Hey, you!" yells a nearby seller. "Pay before you eat!"

Ruti hands Chee a plate to fill. Leonard politely declines one.

She tilts her head, curious. "I thought you wished to be fed."

_Not if I have to kill my dinner first._ "Not as hungry as I thought," he mutters, stepping back from the food bar. "Go ahead. I'll just… wait over there." He points to an empty table barely more than five strides away.

Ruti studies him a moment longer, shrugs one shoulder and turns away to make her selections. But as he takes another step back, she warns him, "Don't bother running away. You will not get far."

He believes her, retreating to the table in silence.

It isn't until Leonard is idly surveying the other stalls of the supermarket that he realizes pushing for this reprieve to eat is both a boon and a mistake. The boon is the familiar flash of gold he spies out of the corner of his eye. The mistake is that ready-for-trouble gleam in Jim Kirk's bright gaze, which Leonard easily recognizes when he twists sideways to see if the gold shirt peeking out from behind a pillar could actually be a Starfleet uniform.

Stomach dropping, Leonard observes the partially visible crown of black hair to Kirk's left.

Oh god, he thinks with certainty, Jim and Spock have found him and they _know_.

The sound of utensils dropping to the table startles Leonard into nearly overturning his stool. Chee narrows his gaze at Leonard while the doctor rights himself. Then Chee thumps into the seat across from him and ignores everything except the squirming mound on his plate. A slight breeze at McCoy's back is Ruti circling around him to sit down on his right.

His heart jumps in his throat when she remarks too casually, "Has something caught your interest, Dr. McCoy?"

"No," he lies. Pointing at Chee's heaping plate, he emphasizes, "Especially not that."

Ruti studies Chee's enthusiasm for his food and then McCoy's pallor. "Very well," she says, "we will not linger longer than necessary."

She makes no other comment afterward and seems intent on her own meal for the time being. That alone, odd as it may seem, makes him break into a sweat.

Now that he is aware of Jim and Spock's presence, he suddenly wishes he hadn't thought of escape at all. Whether Leonard and his captors linger or not, those two are certain to follow.

* * *

There should be no time for doubts once fully into Operation: Rescue My Doctor. Or so Kirk chastises himself.

But what could possibly push McCoy to sit down to a meal with two very obviously unfriendly wayfarers? The man isn't _that_ social—or crazy.

"Maybe he's under a spell," Jim murmurs, spurring the companion at his elbow to glance sharply in his direction. "Or has lost his memory. It's happened before," he points out when Spock's unamused stare remains unchanged.

"Captain, developing a supposition without facts is futile."

Jim grunts and goes back to studying the nervous tick to Leonard McCoy's jaw. "He knows we're here."

Spock's voice lowers slightly. "You may be correct."

Jim flicks a surprised glance Spock's way. "What happened to 'I loathe baseless guessing'?"

"I never said that, Jim."

"That's what you meant."

"This turn of conversation is irrelevant."

Jim is momentarily tempted to keep arguing, but then if he truly pisses off his second-in-command (or vice versa) there will be no one to prod them toward reluctant apologies and the relief of reconciliation. The person with that self-imposed responsibility is across the room in some kind of trouble.

And Jim is determined to extricate Bones from it as quickly as possible.

"Recommendation, Mr. Spock," he prompts, falling back upon the simplicity and structure of command to maintain the peace between them.

Spock shifts his attention to the scene before them. "Given the heavy traffic through this facility, our opponents could make use of a number of distractions."

"And find an easy escape. How long until backup arrives?"

"At least twenty minutes. The port's structure and size does make the navigation of it complex."

Jim doesn't like the thought of waiting. "We don't confront them directly. And there's no use in donning a disguise in front of a telepath. Shit. Our options are running out here, Spock."

"Perhaps we could create an opportunity for Dr. McCoy to attempt to escape on his own."

"Even the slightest mistake, and he might be killed. No." Jim drums his fingers against the pillar in front of him. An idea forms. "What if the confrontation is… indirect?" He looks to Spock.

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Possible. Provided the circumstances are convincing."

A twinkle comes into Kirk's eyes. "I've been told I can be very charming."

Spock seems like he has doubts concerning Jim's acting skills. "As you stated, attempting to con a telepath would be futile. She will know your intentions are insincere."

Jim returns to staring at McCoy's profile. "It won't be the lady I'm flirting with."

"Ah," Spock says after a moment. "In that case, you may be successful."

Jim is already ironing out the details of the plan. "For this to work, we can't approach them together."

"I am aware of that."

Jim straightens slightly and sighs through his nose. "All right, then." He knows he can trust Spock to stay behind. "Hold the men back for now. Wait for my signal."

"Acknowledged."

Jim meets Spock's gaze, and what he sees there steadies him. He offers his second-in-command a faint smile. "But first there is a small task where your input would be most helpful." Having successfully piqued Spock's curiosity, Jim winks and places a guiding hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. "What do you know about fashion, Spock?"

* * *

Leonard has an itching ear that his granny used to say is indicative of someone talking about him. He would bet a year's salary Jim has just convinced Spock of some hare-brained scheme that will inevitably land the three of them into worse trouble than Leonard is already in. Maybe moving Ruti and Chee along to that ship is the smartest thing to do. Leonard hates the thought of Jim and Spock winding up in harm's way because of him. The least he can do is protect them from themselves.

"So," he says, leaning on his elbows to survey the wreckage of Chee's meal, "are you finished?"

Chee chomps down on the last bite of something unappetizingly gooey. "Dessert."

Even Ruti turns to stare at Chee in displeasure. "No. Dr. McCoy is correct. We must leave now."

Her companion wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. "The ship is not far. We have time."

"That ship's master cares not if we are aboard upon departure," Ruti fires back. "Should the vessel leave without us, who would then guard and care for the Lady?"

"Little chit!" Chee thumps his fist on the table, his entire countenance stiffening in anger. "I am loyal to my Lady!"

This is devolving into the kind of fight Leonard doesn't want to be in the middle of. "Okay, calm down, both of you! People are staring."

Ruti visibly settles herself, closing her eyes briefly. When she opens them again, the occupants of the surrounding tables blink in a dazed fashion before slowly resuming feeding themselves.

Leonard suppresses a shiver. Ruti decidedly is the victor, in his opinion. Chee appears to think so as well because he pushes his plate aside as if no longer having an appetite. Leonard doesn't blame him.

"If that is the end to any dissension," Ruti remarks in a tightly controlled tone, rising to her feet, "we have somewhere we should be. Now—"

"Leonard!"

Leonard's head whips around at that very familiar—and far too jolly—cry. The blood drains out of his head.

James T. Kirk pops into existence, upsetting several people as he dives straight through the middle of the line of hungry customers now winding around the border of the eating area. With arms thrown wide in greeting and bearing a megawatt grin, the man gives the impression of someone having just arrived at the galaxy's coolest amusement park.

_Oh hell._ Leonard stutters, "W-We gotta go," but it's already too late to take action. Not only is Jim bulldozing toward them with definite intent, but Ruti and Chee have turned to meet—or brawl with—this newcomer.

At the last second possible, Jim veers aside of Ruti and Chee, coming to a bouncing halt within an arm's length of McCoy, who reluctantly stands up.

Still grinning, Jim sets his hands on his hips. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" he says to McCoy.

Leonard almost chokes. That's usually _his_ line. "Hey, Jim," he returns a bit weakly.

"C'mere, you!" gushes Kirk, practically tackling Leonard into a rib-crushing hug.

Leonard ends up half-sitting, half-leaning against the table, smashed to Jim. His fear turns to annoyance. "Stop that," he bites near Kirk's ear. "I can't breathe!"

Jim loosens his grip just slightly. He pulls back far enough to lay a smacking kiss upon Leonard's cheek.

Leonard considers planting his knee in a very sensitive place but in the end squirms fiercely enough that Jim has let him go or be toppled over.

Kirk finally faces the onlookers, draping an arm casually across McCoy's shoulders. "Hello," the man greets them pleasantly. "Are you friends of Leonard's?"

Chee eyes Kirk in the same way a madman looks for an easily accessible patch of skin to stab.

Ruti has no expression at all. "We are," she states blandly. "_Leonard_," she stresses, "who is this?"

Leonard takes that to mean _get rid of him quickly or there will be consequences_. He's surprised she doesn't already know Jim is Starfleet by his—wait a second.

Leonard realizes then that Jim definitely thought of a plan. Gone is the captain's gold tunic and standard-issue blank pants. Somehow Jim has acquired another outfit, likely from the only clothes aisle of the superstore. He is the picture of a tourist trying to go native: a half-tucked-in vibrant print shirt covered by a light pink jacket too short in the arms, lime-green shorts clearly two sizes too big held up by a rope belt, a sun visor hanging from a cord around the neck, bangles on both wrists that flash in the overhead lighting and, finally, sandals more suited to a tropical getaway than a space station.

Under any other circumstances, Leonard would be embarrassed to be seen with him.

Jim's arm across his shoulders tightens briefly. "A very _good_ friend."

"I barely know him," Leonard says.

"I'm his ex," Jim replies, still smiling. Over Leonard's shocked silence, he adds, "He doesn't like to talk about me."

Ruti says very carefully to Leonard, "I did not realize you were mated."

Leonard interprets that as _I will murder you and this fool._

"Married, mated, same thing," Jim says breezily. He strokes Leonard's back. "I haven't heard from you in a while, dear heart. Why didn't you tell me you were passing through this sector?"

"Maybe because I didn't want to see you?" Leonard says through gritted teeth. He shakes off Jim's touch and turns on the man. "Jim, spouse from whom I'm _happily divorced_, why don't we chat later? I'm busy."

Jim says, pleasant as ever, "I missed you."

"I said I'm busy. I have a career, remember?"

Jim tries to catch one of Leonard's hands, only to be rebuked. "You're not on your ship, so you must not be working today."

"I will be back there shortly, once I finish—" He waves a hand at Ruti and Chee. "—visiting with friends."

Kirk turns back to Ruti. "Have you tried a Moonrock Twist yet?" he asks impishly.

Chee crosses his arms over his chest but demands, "What is that?"

"A drink the locals prefer. Very fruity. My favorite!" Jim pats the air near McCoy, who swats at him again.

Leonard scoffs. "You hate fruit with your liquor."

Kirk ignores that. "My treat for everyone if," he says coaxingly, "you would grant me a small portion of time with this handsome guy."

Leonard is going to punch him. He really is.

Ruti remains silent for a long minute. "You are determined."

Much of Jim's jovialness fades. "Of course," he tells Ruti. "Second chances are hard to come by—and I couldn't live with myself if I wasted this one."

Leonard is frankly astonished that Ruti seems to believe everything Kirk is saying. By god, doesn't she read minds?

"I must agree concerning second chances." Ruti glances once at Chee. "It appears our plans have changed."

Chee grunts and averts his gaze.

Ruti moves around the table to come closer to Kirk and McCoy. Leonard has to give Jim credit where it's due: Jim does not tense in the slightest at the approach. But to anyone who knows the man well, Jim's self-restraint is complimented by his ability to react on a moment's notice.

Yes, trouble's brewing, senses Leonard. Kirk is primed for whatever comes next, and no doubt Spock is lurking nearby, ready to assist.

"You have intrigued me," she says politely to their new acquaintance. "Where can we try this beverage you speak so highly of?"

Jim beams. "I know just the place. Follow me."

And with that remark lingering on the air, somehow prompting McCoy's apprehension to return full-force, Kirk slips his arm through Leonard's and takes point of their four-person party.

"So, Leonard," Jim asks of his companion as they march back to the plaza, "tell me what you've been up to."

He drawls flatly, "Thinking of quitting Starfleet."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Because every time I see my captain's face, I want to strangle him."

Jim makes a choked sound and lowers his voice. "Violence is not the answer, Bones."

"With some idiots," mutters McCoy darkly in response, "it's the only one."


	5. Part Five

There is a common misconception about the telepathic, that they prefer each other's company to any other. In fact, the opposite is true: unless of the same species with similar training and complementary strengths, telepaths are generally wary of each other—with good reason. One slip, one clumsy or careless burst of emotion or thought, from a telepath can lead to the obliteration of the other's shield, forcing them both into raw, crippling exposure. Worse, should they in those hectic moments be unable to prevent their powers from crashing together, the result is certain destruction for any nearby individuals with little-to-no mental defense against the backlash.

But despite knowing of the risks and having studied specific incidents in history as a mandatory course of his early tutelage, Spock feels less afraid and more curious. The telepath near McCoy (and now Kirk) is of a race he does not recognize. But she must be strong, that much he can discern. While the physical eye may see her, her presence is entirely absent to his extrasensory perception.

Yes, a curiosity indeed.

From a vantage point that affords him a decent view of the proceedings and is within his hearing range if he concentrates (yet seems to offend the nearby market staff for he shows no interest in spending any money on their superfluous products), his attention turns to his shipmates. The mere sight of them rekindles an aftertaste of their presence, as real as the warmth of the air and as harmlessly normal. It seems a condition he could easily become accustomed to, but perhaps this is not an observation to mention to either Kirk or McCoy. Most humans are naturally hesitant of the notion of connected minds because they cannot comprehend it as a normal—and in some cases, pleasant—state of existence. As may be expected, there needs to be some education made available to assuage their apprehension.

This is when Spock realizes that errant training of thought has broken his concentration; for several minutes past, he knows not what has been said between Jim and the others. The group is preparing to vacate the premises of the supermarket, however, with no indication of hostility or coercion. But Spock has not verified their heading due to his distraction. Were he still in school, he might be shamed by his elders for the mistake. Conversely, his mother would simply call the act "daydreaming" and inquire as to the nature of his thoughts.

Which, Spock determines, most assuredly imagining his tie to bondmates would _not_ be a suitable subject matter to share with one's mother.

Spock opens his communicator, thankful he had previously discussed a rough outline of the plan with his captain. "Spock to Enterprise," he calls.

Uhura answers immediately, "Enterprise here. Mr. Spock, Mr. Giotto confirms his understanding of the Captain's orders. Security just now boarded the port. I will connect your comm to their channel."

"Very good, Lieutenant. The Captain appears to have successfully engaged the party. I shall proceed to follow them. An update, please, on Mr. Chekov's preparations."

"Ready to go, sir!" pipes in the officer in question.

"Mr. Chekov, I estimate you have approximately twenty-one minutes to assume your position."

"On my way now, sir," comes the response, already fading out as Chekov undoubtedly jumps into the bridge's lift.

A new voice comes online. "Mr. Spock!"

"Yes, Mr. Scott?"

"Be careful doun there, the lot of you. I don't fancy sitting in this captain's chair permanently."

"Nor I, Mr. Scott. I will see to the Captain's safety."

"Sulu," Spock hears Scott say, "has Pavel reached the transporter yet?"

Satisfied with everything he has heard, Spock informs them, "Maintain regular check-ins with Security. I will contact you as the situation develops. Spock out."

Tucking away the communicator, he glides around a stand of holographic postcards in time to catch the final flashes of Kirk's tourist outfit and McCoy's uniform across the store, moments later hidden from sight by the opaque entrance sliding shut upon their exit. A seller tries to intercepts Spock on the way out, shaking two handfuls of accessories uncomfortably close to his face.

"Sir," the man half cries, half demands, "you can't leave empty-handed! Not even a souvenir?! Come this way, my fellow—I have an entire section just for you, both pleasing to the eyes and the palate!"

"Unlikely," replies Spock. "That which pleases me has already left the building, and I must hurry to catch them."

He leaves the gawking man in his wake.

* * *

_This will work,_ thinks Kirk, his jovial facade at odds with the churning of an uneasy stomach and a slight case of nerves. _This has to work._

From beneath the sun visor now pulled low over his face, he glances at McCoy walking beside him, wishing he could say something that will make both of them feel more hopeful. But he cannot, and so McCoy will simply have to trust him to know what he's doing.

Unless… Yes, maybe there is a way to give Bones a sign.

He casually slips his hand into McCoy's, managing to squeeze it before McCoy's second of hesitation passes and the man shakes off Jim's hand as unwanted attention.

Feeling a bit impish, Jim suppresses a smile, reaching again for the doctor's hand. This time, McCoy flings it back at him in clear agitation, followed by a scathing look.

"Knock it off," warns the doctor.

Jim does smile now. "I've missed you so much!"

McCoy stops walking. So does the remainder of their party.

The man eyes Jim briefly before saying in a calm, careful tone of voice, "Look, the only reason I'm going along with you is because you seem to have something important to tell me." The doctor's gaze flicks over to a staring Ruti and Chee. "I'm kind of pressed for time, Jim, so if you want your chance, stop pissing me off and let's get to where you want us to go."

Jim understands the message. Wherever Ruti and Chee had planned to take McCoy, the reason behind it—and likely the kidnapping itself—comes with a short deadline. Usually, the reason to operate under a time-constraint at a port like this one involves making a scheduled departure. So, that implies these two had planned to stow his doctor away on some ship and leave with him.

Jim's never going to let that happen.

As he calms a sudden urge to grab McCoy and run, he considers why McCoy's unwanted company would agree to a leisurely stop for drinks with an unexpected guest. Maybe he is of use to them as well?

"Well?" McCoy demands, cutting into Kirk's thoughts.

Well, decides Jim, he just has to be careful. And he always is. Most of the time.

Some of the time.

"Sorry," he apologizes, because realistically being careful is a poor possibility for both of them. "You're right—and I swear I'll make my point soon." For some reason that promise flusters McCoy, so Jim adds for good measure, "Trust me," low enough that only McCoy can hear him.

Saying nothing and looking at no one, McCoy resumes walking. Jim catches up to him.

* * *

It's going to go wrong, so very wrong. Leonard has been in the thick of Jim's plans before and despite what his captain wants him to believe, Leonard is certain at some point everything will go sideways. It always does.

A funny sensation starts in the pit of McCoy's stomach when Kirk finally branches off the gangway to the entrance of an establishment just at the border the entertainment district. McCoy's earlier visit had been during an hour when the local bars and lounges were shut down; now the entire strip is slowly coming awake, one by one opening their doors to longtime patrons and curious bypassers. It's still too early for the nightlife crowd to arrive, so by all accounts, Kirk has picked the perfect time and place: somewhere not yet overrun by civilians and where fights don't attract more attention than usual; and being on the farthest port edge, the escape route is one-way, back to the main thoroughfare.

Leonard wipes sweat from his forehead. If he's nervous, he imagines Ruti and Chee must be extremely paranoid by now.

But surprisingly Chee takes one look at the flashing Open sign of the lounge, makes a grunt that almost seems satisfied, and loudly bangs through the doorway. Jim follows next, McCoy in the middle, and lastly Ruti.

Leonard's eyes adjust slowly to the dim interior, and then he bumps into Jim, half-blind, tensing on instinct. He takes in the man's stance. "Something the matter, Jim?"

It isn't until the doctor speaks that Kirk seems to realize he has stopped moving, the words startling Jim into continuing his path forward.

"It's nothing," Jim replies. "Just thought I recognized someone, that's all."

That's an answer McCoy will not contradict publicly, especially now with his heart knocking against his ribs as they approach a curved bar. The smiling man standing on the other side of it is the reason for his heart palpitations.

Pavel Chekov raises a hand in innocent greeting before resuming the routine motion of wiping down a row of shot glasses. His outfit isn't quite that of a bartender's but in the low lighting, no one will likely question the standard-issue black undershirt and pants.

McCoy's heart starts to pound harder as Jim sails up to a stool, slaps a hand down on the countertop, and declares, "Bartender, service!"

Leonard's forward momentum is stalled by a hand lightly landing on his arm. He swallows and stills under Ruti's scrutiny. Chee abandons his surveillance of the lounge at large to stand opposite them.

"Empty," the alien mutters.

Ruti says quietly to McCoy, "You are of use to us. He is not. Do not forget that."

Jim has turned away from Chekov to observe their group in measured silence. Leonard can hear the cognitive wheels turning in Kirk's head as the man watches them.

Ruti's hand leaves Leonard's arm. Feeling as though he is moving across very thin ice where one wrong step can lead to disaster, Leonard delicately takes a seat next to Kirk.

Jim faces the bartender again. "Recommendations?"

Chekov beams. "I have a special zat will put hair on a bald man."

Of course it would be Pavel, decides Leonard with a bit of dismay. The young fool probably volunteered for this part of the adventure. "We'll pass," he interjects.

Since Chekov seems momentarily disappointed, his offer must have been sincere. After all, the lieutenant is quite talented at mixing drinks—even if in all likelihood Chekov learned the art of bartending before he could legally imbibe his own concoctions.

Jim leans toward Leonard, hooking an arm around his waist. "Three Moonrock Twists and—" Here, he pats Leonard's side fondly. "Something plainer for this old country doctor."

McCoy snorts.

Chekov nods. "_Moonrock Twist_—da, everyone wants zat," and begins pulling bottle after bottle off the shelves behind him.

With the sneaking suspicion this "fantastic" local drink is more fiction than fact, as Jim does love to embellish his cover when in disguise, Leonard has to ask, "What's in this amazing drink, Jim?"

Jim winks. "Not even I know that, Leonard."

Yes, definitely fiction. No matter, Chekov likes a good challenge just like the captain he works for, and indeed the young man is already laser-focused on inventing a Moonrock Twist right before their very eyes.

"Double whiskey," he calls to Chekov's back. "I think I'm gonna need it."

* * *

McCoy's comment makes Jim want to laugh out loud. Quelling that urge, he turns instead to their companions who remain at a significant distance.

"Sit down," he coaxes them. When no one reacts to that, his gaze lands on the larger of the two. "Hey, you're kind of cute. What's your name?"

Cute growls.

"Is he always so friendly?" Jim asks of the female.

"You would not want to see his unfriendly side," she says.

Her deliver is mild, but the threat is heartfelt. Jim offers her a thin-lipped smile. "I'll take that into consideration."

The slam of a tumbler onto the countertop gains everyone's attention. Chekov crows proudly, "Ze Moonrock Twist! My _finest_ creation!"

"Your creation?" Ruti questions sharply.

Jim tenses, but Chekov recovers quickly. "Not mine exactly," the bartender explains, "but all Twists were invented in Russia and carefully preserved through ze generations." At Ruti and Chee's blank looks, he goes on a little too eagerly, "Russian tsars were of the highest nobility on Old Earth—and here, obviously."

McCoy grumbles for someone to give him his whiskey.

Jim's willing to play along. "How many Russians have settled on this spaceport?"

Chekov blinks. "We _own_ it."

Kirk rubs his forehead. McCoy covers his eyes.

The ridiculousness of the conversation appears to have tempered some response in the others, for the female makes her way to the bar and studies the glass with an iridescent sheen to it before holding it out to her companion. "Drink," she orders him.

Chee drinks the concoction, grimacing fiercely afterward. "It is disgusting."

Chekov snaps to attention, his normally cheerful demeanor darkening considerably.

Chee tosses out, "And weak!"

Sensing a true red alert at the fire sparking to life in Chekov's eyes, Kirk lets go of McCoy immediately. While he has never seen Chekov engage in a public brawl with someone over petty remarks, as Spock would say, there is a first time for everything.

He drops the appearance of good humor, his palms out in a conciliatory manner but his tone sharp as he addresses their adversary. "You're entitled to an opinion, mister." His gaze flicks again to Chekov, who is twisting a hand towel into a tight rope. "But don't make it an insult."

The female sits down. "I believe my friend means to say we would prefer a different beverage."

Chekov crosses his arms over his chest. "Yes, another drink. A better one!"

Kirk lays his hand on the counter when it seems like Chekov might jump over it to throttle the big fool and says lightly, "McCoy hasn't had his whiskey. Pour us all one, will you?"

A moment passes. At last, the tension breaks as Chekov caves to the subtle command to stand down, though the young man mutters under his breath as he makes a show of studying various labeled bottles of whiskey.

Jim sighs through his nose. Now, the second act begins.

* * *

Leonard sighs in conjunction with Jim, relieved that a moment of disaster has been averted. He cannot imagine that the whole of Kirk's plan is to attack Chee with only Chekov for backup.

"You wanted to talk to me about something," he reminds Jim, hoping for some clue of what he should be doing to help their ruse along.

"Yes," jumps Ruti, watching Kirk rather McCoy. "Make good use of your time."

"What about our time?" growls Chee, alternating his glower between all three humans in the room. "It is more precious than theirs!"

"Humans keep closer ties than we do, Chee. They are persistent in their pursuits, even when considering one another as nuisances. I believe the term for this is… family."

McCoy spins to face her, shocked.

It's true. Kirk has been his family for years now. Ruti has guessed that accurately, despite the blustering and harsh words and Leonard pretending his relationship with Jim is inconsequential. But good lord, how far has she read into his mind? Into his heart?

This can only mean the ruse is coming to an end. He needs to do something. Push Kirk away, or just tell Ruti to just drag him to that damned ship already. There has to be something he can do before it all goes south.

Damn it, Leonard should have never left Spock's side. Even if Ruti had been watching him, following him, long before he got lost, the moment he separated himself from Spock, he unknowingly played into her hands. While he cannot change that fact now, he can make certain no one else suffers for it.

The door to the lounge swings inward then, a newcomer casting a long, thin shadow across the floor.

Chee jumps in that direction, visibly coiling as if about to attack. Ruti soundlessly positions herself so Chee is between her and the rest of them.

The new arrival is the picture of calm: steady stride, hands tucked behind him, expression bland. Spock approaches the bar as if there is nothing in the galaxy they could be upset about. But he does stop midway to turn his dark gaze onto McCoy.

"Good evening, Leonard."

Leonard chokes, frozen like the others around him. Even Chekov barely moves, holding out a shot glass full of whiskey that no one tries to take.

Then Kirk reacts, his stance softening, relaxing, as the man himself leans against the edge of the bar. Pulling the shot glass from Chekov's hand, Jim downs it in one go, his gaze never wavering from the Vulcan in the Starfleet uniform.

"Leonard," Jim questions mildly, "who's he?"

McCoy still can't think of a suitable response, but he doesn't need to because Spock answers for him.

"I am called Spock... and am Dr. McCoy's partner."

Kirk's tone grows ever lazier. "I take it you don't mean colleague?"

"That applies as well."

"Hm," hums Kirk. "I guess you've heard of me then. I'm Jim, Leonard's _first_ partner."

The Vulcan raises an eyebrow. "I recall no mention of a first partner."

Kirk sets the shot glass down none-too-gently. "That so? Well, he's never mentioned _you_."

Leonard rubs a hand across his mouth, frankly marveling at the audacity of his idiot friends. It's only because he notices Chee's expression wavering between confusion and suspicion that he accepts there may be bigger idiots than Spock and Kirk who will believe this ridiculous byplay.

Kirk and Spock turn as one to McCoy as if awaiting his decision of who was the first partner (and who's better than whom), making Leonard want to smack them both. So they expect him to play his part in this little three-person soap opera?

Hell no.

Leonard stands up and looks to Ruti instead. "We've got a problem."

"And that problem is?" she asks softly.

"I don't think either of these fellas deserves me." Leonard hikes a thumb at Spock. "This one likes his work better than he likes me, and that one—" He doesn't even bother to point to Kirk. "—never could express his feelings properly."

Kirk's mouth opens and closes. "But I married you!"

"Sham marriage if you ask me," Leonard says sardonically, ignoring the fizzling noise Kirk makes. "So you see my conundrum," he tells Ruti. "If I let them fight over me, the victor might actually believe he has won something."

"Interesting," announces Spock. "Then how should we proceed?"

"Do they have a brain illness?" Chee inquiries of his telepathic co-conspirator.

"No," she confirms, clearly much to Chee's dismay, shifting her attention as she addresses Kirk, Spock, and McCoy. "You all speak the truth—but it matters not that you are in love with each other. Dr. McCoy's services are required to save a life," she informs Kirk and Spock, "and your interference is not welcome."

"Do you think you can stop us?" Jim demands, moving to stand in front of Leonard with Spock joining him.

"Jim!" McCoy warns, recognizing the ruthless glaze to Ruti's eyes.

"Is that a challenge, _Captain_?"

Leonard feels it then, an odd sensation like a tickle in his mind, deep inside. Before he can decide how to react, the view in front of him bursts into red: Security officers pouring through the front entrance and a side door Leonard hadn't noticed before now, their attack as erratic as ants swarming out of a hill on high alert to protect and defend their territory. Alongside them, a nearly blinding light from outside pierces the darkened lounge, causing Leonard to throw up an arm to shield his eyes.

_Hell has come_, he thinks. _Dear god, I hope we survive it._

Inside his head, a voice whispers back, _There is no god here, Dr. McCoy._

He stumbles sideways, sitting something hard and unyielding. A cloud is descending, obscuring what he is aware of. There's fighting—Kirk and Chekov had pounced on Chee in the moment of inattention; the large alien heaves them off much like bear shaking away two vaguely irritating gnats—elegantly long fingers find his face—Spock?—someone yells—there should be pain but the cloud is relentless, an intrusion, a force driving his will down, down, down until, finally, there is simply silence.

After a time, Leonard opens his eyes to find himself propped against the side of the bar. Silence still prevails, a sea of it stretching out across body after body of fallen comrades. In the middle of that sea, only a slight figure remains standing.

Ruti holds her hand out to him and, helpless, McCoy climbs to his feet and staggers to her. He tries to call for help but who exists in this silence to hear his cry except her?

_You will feel no pain,_ she promises as her hand grasps his. _No fear. No anguish._

He looks around, certain he ought to be experiencing all of those things. She's hurt everyone, the lives he cares for more than himself. He tries to spin away from her to see all that she took from him, to desperately determine how much of his heart has been destroyed in the blink of an eye, but the grip on him is too tight, too strong.

She tugs him toward an exit, navigating them around the unmoving bodies, while he ponders why he cannot dig in his heels to stop their flight. And he does want to stop. It's bad inside, yes, but beyond this place is something worse. Leonard can sense the menace, waiting.

_He is near_, the voice—Ruti's—whispers, not needing to give a name. Strangely Leonard can guess it because while he feels nothing, Ruti feels everything, most especially fear.

The cousin, full of vengeance, has arrived at the station.


	6. Part Six

Officer Huido rarely has an exciting day, and he has been in his given profession for over fifteen years. Yet what should have been the best day of his career—nay, of his life!—is completely ruined. This is why he sits moping over his great loss in a holding cell. Utterly dashed, the once-in-a-lifetime chance to meet and impress the ever-illustrious Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise.

And all because Murtee had to be overdramatic about some petty theft! Huido has seen the shopkeeper's wares, strategically displayed to catch a tourist's eye: overpriced imitations, most of them, and not worth the wrapping they are in. Why go blathering on about a missing medkit (no doubt containing out-of-date instruments and moldy gauze) when there is a decorated starship captain—a bonafide celebrity!—visiting their backwater station?

Huido has never had any hopes of his friend being smart, but now he's downright appalled by Murtee's lack of sensibility.

"I'm downright appalled!" he repeats out loud, deciding the offender in question needs to know how he feels.

Murtee twitches an antenna in Huido's direction. "I can't be here. Do you know how much profit I miss when my shop closes at rush hour?"

"It's your own fault."

"You odious human, you attacked me!"

"You embarrassed me in front of Captain Kirk!"

"You—"

The brig officer on duty bangs a baton against his desk. "Quiet down, you two!"

Huido shakes his stasis cuffs at the man. "Is this really necessary?"

"I'm under orders to leave you in there until you remember what your brain is for. You know how the Commander feels about public brawls." The officer selects a data padd from the middle of a teetering stack. "Just be thankful nobody told the Chief. He'd demote you." The man pauses. "Maybe demote you."

Huido hunches over, understanding his situation all too well. The Chief is more prone to tossing an errant officer out of an airlock than strip his rank. Less administrative paperwork that way.

Huido's colleague goes on, "What got into you anyway? We're supposed to be on our best behavior while Starfleet is around. You know that."

Huido sighs gustily. Yes, he made a mistake. A terrible mistake. How will he ever redeem himself in the eyes of Kirk?

Murtee seems to have guessed the turn of Huido's morose thoughts and begins to snicker. "Huido, you look like you're going to cry! Ahahaha!"

Huido glares at him. "Oh, shut up, you. I'll be out of here soon enough, but I'll see to it that you lose _several_ days of business!"

Murtee blinks then, and after a moment's pause sniffs delicately. "I will buy you more nougats. With those disgusting nuts you find so delicious."

Huido also blinks. "Cashews _and_ pistachios."

"Deal."

The brig officer simply rolls his eyes. "Huido, only you would take candy as a bribe." Then he glances aside, gapes, and leaps out of his chair, snapping to attention.

As a unit, Huido and Murtee lean to the far left to see around the corner of their cell wall. Huido's gaze widens at the sight of his superior, then widens further at the men following on Wardyn's heels. His despair dissipates in an instant.

"C-Captain Kirk!" he gasps and shakes his friend excitedly. "Murtee—Murtee, look!"

"_By the Great Barters_," declares Murtee, "the poster boy is back!"

Huido leaps from the bench, stumbling just a bit as he does so, to assume the same proper stance as his red-faced colleague across the room. He doesn't quite know how to a salute with cuffed hands but tries his damnedest to make it work.

Kirk is not alone. That Vulcan officer is at the captain's side, and behind the pair is a band of rumpled red-shirted men and women.

Murtee elbows Huido when two officers from the station's security team enter the building last, dragging between them a very large, very angry-looking thug. "Huido!" the shopkeeper bleats, alarmed, as the officers escort their prisoner directly to Murtee and Huido's cell.

They scuttle aside as the blue laser-lines of the cell's force field momentarily disappear, and their new cellmate is shoved inside. With this new bulk taking up almost half of their free space, Murtee presses closely against Huido's side.

Bearing his teeth at the grim-faced men and women outside the cell, the prisoner jerks up his cuffed hands and throws a double-fisted punch right into the force field. Blue sparks shoot every which way. Huido and Murtee lock onto each other for dear life. But their cellmate doesn't seem scared of or, in fact, much at all affected by the backlash of energy. Then he pivots to face them.

Nosy and just as senseless as Huido expected, Murtee twitches his antennae and asks, "So, what are you in for?"

Huido would bet this fellow has killed somebody. Or wants to kill somebody. Maybe _will_ kill them.

So much for a future of nougats and redemption.

But the thug only faces away again, returning his glare to the open brig area.

Huido notices then that Captain Kirk's condition is not as pristine as it was earlier that day. Moreover, there is a certain chill to Kirk's gaze as Kirk watches the prisoner. Huido studies the captain a moment longer, feeling he has missed something of importance.

Ah, yes. Kirk may be famous but he has horrible taste in civilian clothing, Huido observes sadly.

"When are we being released?" Murtee half-demands, like Huido unnerved but also curious about all the commotion in the station.

"I don't know," Huido answers honestly, watching as Kirk's attention is drawn away by Commander Wardyn. "I think our case just became a low priority."

* * *

Jim is livid: at the enemy, at this farcical port security, and mainly at himself. He miscalculated, and they all paid the price. Especially Bones.

Clenching his fists, Kirk reminds himself to count to ten to suppress the urge to lash out at someone or something. No one here deserves his anger except for—

"Captain," a voice interrupts his thoughts, "we need to talk."

Jim faces Wardyn, taking in the elder man's impassive countenance. "Are the medics here?"

"They will be momentarily," the commander says, then tips his head in the direction of a closed office door. "This way."

Jim starts to follow him, then stops short to round on the person beside him also doing the same. "I can handle this."

"Captain." Spock pauses, seeming to think better of something. "Jim."

Jim overrides any forthcoming protest with "Let Medical take a look at you."

Spock's eyebrows snap together. "I do not require their attention."

"That's not for you to decide—not when you look to be in worse condition than the rest of us."

The fact Spock doesn't come back with some smart remark confirms Jim's suspicions. Knowing his duty, Jim places some steel into his tone. "I want a report on your fitness for duty, Mr. Spock. If you are uncomfortable allowing the port medics to assess you, we'll have M'Benga brought down." Which would take even more time away from finding McCoy, a now critical priority—and a possibility Jim is certain Spock won't entertain. "Consider that an order."

The flash through Spock's eyes in a human might be called mutinous. But Spock doesn't follow his captain to Wardyn' office.

Kirk firmly closes the door on his way in and takes a wide-legged stance, crossing his arms over his chest.

Wardyn turns away from some photo on the corner of his desk, pushing it aside to settle there. He gives Jim a measuring look. "You've made fools of us, Captain."

"It was my prerogative not to notify your command base of the situation."

"Let's be clear," Wardyn says with some bite. "This wasn't some petty fight between hotheads. It was a _hostage_ situation. At minimum, a report should have been made. So now I want to know… what's really going on here? Why did you try to keep the intel contained?" The commander's gaze sharpens. "Is the operation under blackout?"

Tempting to let the man run with that idea, but Jim knows it would come back to bite him in the ass, hard. "No, there was no reason for the covertness. That's just how I run things."

"Your ship, your rules. I understand that. But this is _my_ base under _my_ command. So stop stepping over us, Kirk. We want to help, and we can—regardless of whatever opinion you have formed about our competency."

Jim uncrosses his arms to run a hand through his hair, some of his frustration spilling over. "The Chief of Port hasn't given me a moment's peace since I docked."

"Well, he _is_ an idiot," acknowledges Wardyn in a mild tone. "Lucky for you, since you could use our help now, I can convince the Chief to stay out of the way until your officer is recovered."

Jim can't help but respect this guy. And in this situation, McCoy would caution Jim not to be a fool himself and extend an olive branch, so he meets the commander's gaze. "What do you recommend?"

Wardyn smiles slightly. "How are you at interrogations?"

"I like to play the bad cop."

"Good. I'm told I can be a decent voice of reason. Shall we have a chat with the one you wanted arrested?"

"We shall," Jim says, his tone hardening. Chee is precisely the person deserving of the brunt of his temper. He accompanies Wardyn from the office, matching the commander's stride.

* * *

Spock generally prefers to think of himself as an individual who can remain calm in the most stressful of situations. But right now Spock is not calm. He feels much: anger, distress, concern, confusion, disappointment. He does not know whether these are his emotions surfacing or the combination of his and others'. There is too much data, too many feelings and thoughts outside, pelting continuously like rain against the meager shield separating his mind from everyone else's. When the occasional raindrop is strong enough to crystallize, it penetrates the shield's thin membrane and adds pain to the mix.

Instinct urges Spock to agree with Jim. He is not fit for duty. His body needs rest and time to regain strength and balance. In this weakened state, he is a liability.

But it agonizes Spock to recall what it felt like when that unnatural agent—that _outsider_—burrowed into McCoy's mind. And despite his best efforts, Spock failed to stop it.

The medics in the small exam room watch Spock nervously. Spock ignores them, trying his best to restrain himself from inappropriately expressing impatience as he waits for his call to the Enterprise to connect.

At last, the person he needs to speak with comes online.

"Dr. M'Benga," Spock jumps in, forgoing his customary greeting, "the medical staff here require your expertise in Vulcan physiology to guide their efforts."

"So I've heard," the doctor says. "But first, Mr. Spock, I have a question for you."

Not liking M'Benga's cautious tone, Spock stiffens—and realizes his control is so tenuous at present, even his body is a rogue agent, reactive to every strong emotion.

The doctor appears to recognize this heightened response as well but thankfully spares Spock the embarrassment of pointing it out.

"Proceed," Spock tells him.

"If I recommend you return to the ship, will you?"

"Negative."

M'Benga nods once, not appearing surprised. "Who's in charge there?"

A medic steps forward. "I am."

"We'll start with basic readings and work our way up from there," M'Benga begins. "I don't expect you have some of the equipment on the list I forwarded you. Those would be particular to Vulcans. Dr. McCoy was adamant we acquire them for Mr. Spock's exams."

"As a medical facility, we operate at minimal capacity, sir."

"In that case, I can walk you through some alternative tests. Mr. Spock, make yourself comfortable please."

Spock says before stretching out on the metal exam table, "Doctor, time is of the essence."

"I know," M'Benga replies softly. "I'll do my best… and you'll do yours?"

Spock understands. The matter of bringing back Leonard McCoy safely has become the concern of many people.

"I shall," he promises, adding silently, _regardless of the price._

While the medics work diligently to follow M'Benga's instructions, Spock closes his eyes to rest in hopes of restoring a modicum of the reserves needed to face the telepath that stole McCoy away.

* * *

When Leonard comes back to himself, he empties the contents of his stomach into a bin placed conspicuously nearby. It takes a while for him to stop heaving and by that time he's well enough to sit back on his haunches, sweaty and shaking. He can't remember being this sick recently, except for maybe that time he was talked into trying an exotic kind of liquor that nearly killed him. But nothing imbibed has made him this ill.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, he rises unsteadily to his feet, wipes his face on part of his shirt, and turns around. He doesn't recognize the person next to Ruti, and that person forgoes introductions, merely looking at Leonard's rumpled appearance in disgust.

"I will call the cleaning crew," the fellow says to Ruti, gesturing to the bin.

Ruti inclines her head. "Thank you, Captain."

Leonard swallows down the taste of bile. When the man departs the cabin and Ruti takes a step toward him, he deliberately draws away from her. She takes the hint to keep distance between them.

He recognizes the sterility of the air now, has seen more than his fair share of utilitarian rooms like this before, to know where he is. And even if he was still confused, the familiar woman lying on the cot tucked into the corner of the room is a dead giveaway.

He doesn't ask how he came to be here, already knowing the answer. That's what made him physically sick. Thinking about it now is upsetting, in fact, so he shies away from the knowledge and tries to introduce a clinical perspective to his situation.

But at the same time, there is one thing McCoy has to know. "You let me go. Why?"

Ruti studies him carefully. "I need your skill as a doctor."

"You mean you can control me just enough to force me to come here," he says flatly, "but you can't reproduce a skill that requires critical thinking?"

"Correct."

"I hate you." And he hates that he can feel her acceptance of his hatred. It's horrifying to him, like having removed his hand from a spittoon but not yet scrubbed his skin clean. Her emotions are palatable to him when he simply, desperately wants to forget what he's been through.

Forgetting is impossible, unfortunately.

"Did you kill them?" he asks, closing his eyes.

Ruti drifts toward the cot and the woman there. "No."

His eyes pop back open, and he starts toward her, his anger rising another notch. "Don't lie to me, Ruti. I saw the bodies. I saw—" He chokes on the word _them_, seeing Spock crumpled at his feet, a partial view of Jim's face from under another body, Chekov's. _Dear god._ His hands tremble at the thought of what he must have left behind.

"I killed no one," repeats Ruti, her tone sharpening. "Why do you think the worst of me?"

"Oh, I don't know… maybe because you kidnap people? Because you enjoy taking away their rights—violating _their minds_? Don't bother trying to justify yourself to me. You are everything I stand against. And, frankly, lady, you're despicable."

Disappointment.

She's not angry. She's _disappointed._

Leonard balls his hands into fists. "I'm leaving. The only way you'll stop me is to make me your puppet again. Or kill me. Up to you." He heads for the door.

"Please."

It's not the word itself that pulls Leonard up short. In that moment Ruti speaks, Leonard feels it clearly: she is preparing to beg him to stay.

God, how he hates her—and himself for turning back.

Ruti is kneeling on the floor by the cot, her hand on the arm of the unconscious woman, head bowed. "Please," she says again. "I do not want her to die. She is… everything. My cousin will destroy her."

"How are you any different than your cousin?"

Ruti lifts her head to look at him, the grief in her face evident. "Because I love where he hates."

"That's not an answer." But he understands her meaning. "Maybe your cousin has a reason to hate… if you're in love with his wife."

Ruti says nothing.

Leonard sighs through his nose. "So you're willing to beg but you still won't do the right thing and let me go. Fine. We'll compromise, because I don't want you to break what's left of my sanity and you already said you can't lose this woman."

"Compromise," Ruti echoes, as if testing a word foreign to her.

"It means I get something out of this too."

Ruti stands up. "What do you want?" When he just looks at her, she provides the answer herself. "To stay. To go home. To return to the captain and the Vulcan. To love—"

He stops her right there as a funny feeling starts in his stomach. "The first three."

Ruti says a bit dryly, "I know what being in love feels like."

McCoy flushes. "But you don't know when to mind your own business!"

Her "I see" is quite solemn. Then, out of nowhere, "The Vulcan wished to protect you. His telepathy is… different… but I recognize now his intention."

The back of Leonard's hand brushes his cheek, feeling the phantom touch of Spock's fingers there. "Did you hurt him?"

"I do not know. He did not seem anchored when I unleashed. Does his kind not know how to ride an unleashing?"

Apparently not. And somehow Leonard will have to pry past the taboo of asking about Vulcan telepathy-related secrets to find out why not. He really doesn't like the idea of Spock being vulnerable to another telepath; there can be wounds a doctor like Leonard can't fix.

"And the others?" Leonard asks. "Will they recover?"

Suddenly Ruti seems amused. "Most likely. I merely urged their minds to sleep, but I foresee your captain may be angry about that. Chee certainly will."

Leonard straightens, finally noticing Chee's absence. "You left him?"

"It was necessary," she answers simply. "I needed the distraction."

Her words are a sobering reminder of the kind of person he's dealing with. "You knew all along about Jim, didn't you?"

Her amusement grows. "A silly ploy. The spaceport officials are proud to have Captain James Kirk visiting them. His picture has rotated through the newsfeed for days."

"Chee didn't know."

"Chee does not care for the news channel."

"So where does that leave us?" Leonard asks somberly.

Ruti approaches him cautiously, extending her hand. "With a compromise, Dr. McCoy."

* * *

The captain of the long-haul freighter cuts the audioless connection to the storage room where his recently arrived guests are stowed and appear to be arguing. He signals his first officer to come to his side. "Describe again who offered the payment?"

The first officer does so, along with miming the height and girth of the spacer with his hands. He also explains in detail how the massive being pinned him to a wall while making the offer.

The captain is certain now no person of that description has boarded his vessel. There is only the small chit, the weak human, and that sick-looking female who will probably die during the voyage. The insignia on the human's tunic normally would give a person in his profession pause since he has no desire to attract the attention of Starfleet, but clearly the need for secrecy and the urgency with which his ship was commissioned to provide transport for these guests means they too want to draw the attention of no one in authority.

"Runaways," he decides, grinning at his first officer. "And runaways generally come with rewards. Find out what they're worth and to whom."

"We're scheduled to depart in—"

The captain snorts. "I will think of some excuse. An unexpected engine malfunction." He leans forward with the fierce warning, "Get me a price, or get off my ship!"

The officer salutes him fearfully and hurries from the bridge.

The captain spends a few moments thinking of this unusual opportunity. Then he activates a comm channel in the console before him. "Tell Cleaning there is waste collection waiting in the starboard compartment, and to be quick about it."

Yes, there's no reason not to treat his guests well. Not until, that is, he knows for certain if they will bring him a sizable profit.


	7. Part Seven

Flashy billboards bob in orbit just beyond the port's outermost ring. A pilot navigates the nose of a sleek cruiser around the ads with apparent expertise until he is able to rotate the cruiser 180 degrees. Then he fires the rear thrusters, backing the vessel into an empty slot in the section marked for tourist crafts and minimally crewed ships. Giant mechanical arms reach for the sides of the cruiser, locking into place with a hiss of steam.

"We're docked, Prime Zanceas," announces the pilot. "Requesting the boarding protocol from the dockmaster now." He mutters something into the comm in his console.

The man standing beside the pilot's chair releases an annoyed huff. He flicks an unappreciative eye toward the largest, shiniest advertisement still glowing in the corner of the cruiser's viewscreen. "Idealistic hacks," he scoffs. "An arrogant lot, this Federation. Just look at that Terran. They've splattered his repulsive face from here to the Orion Beltway. Ridiculous!"

The pilot shrugs, detaching his seatbelt. "It is said he saved a race from complete annihilation and was awarded many honors."

"I am sick of seeing him." The Prime steps down from the platform with a scowl. "Make haste and deploy the Scavengers. I don't want to spend another parsec than necessary in this cesspit." He disappears into a passageway beyond the bridge without waiting for a reply.

In the most spacious cabin of the cruiser which Zan had chosen as his private quarters, he selects a bottle from his brandy collection, uncorks it, and pours a tumbler full. But after a sip, he flings the glass, liquor and all, against the nearest wall, feeling too little satisfaction as it shatters into tiny pieces. A soft-footed servant enters the room to clean up the mess.

The Prime rips open the first hook of his high-collar jacket, hot anger like a living creature writhing inside him. The farther he journeys from his homeworld, the stronger his emotions are and the more slippery his control over them. Confined to this small vessel for days with no clear outlet, bit by bit the anger has been building, melding with his power until the two are inseparable. Oh, he has been able to tamely siphon some of it away through petty outbursts; but that kind of release is not enough, never enough. He knows very soon he needs to let the heart of his rage loose; otherwise, it will simply burst free of its own accord and destroy _him_ in the process.

He also knows who it wishes to target. If only he could find them, his traitorous wife and servant and the one who stole both from him.

A snarl builds in his throat at the thought of his cousin. "_Bitch_," he hisses, remembering Ruti's parting words: _She could have never loved a monster like you._

The servant hunches inward, no doubt sensing his master's deep anger and fearing it. Though of no psy-strength to be a real threat, all races of their species are born with the ability to gauge the depth of each other's power. In the case of the weak and the low-born, it is a self-preserving instinct, lest they upset someone who can rip them apart with a single thought.

He gazes with disinterest at the servant now quickly disposing of remaining glass shards. "Get out," he says abruptly, coldly.

The servant wastes no time obeying the order.

Zan throws himself into a high-backed chair, waiting with some impatience for news from the bridge. The Scavengers should pick up the trail easily once inside the station. After all, they are creatures native to his homeworld who hunt his kind, and the pack he brought along he raised and trained personally. They hunger for a taste of death, and the injury dealt to his wife at that last parting should be slowly killing her. The Scavengers will salivate at the scent of her dying.

But even without the trackers, he knows he has caught up to his quarry. His wife has little power of her own, making it difficult for him to track her without aid, but Ruti… Even from inside this vessel, Zan feels Ruti, an irritating pinprick at the periphery of his awareness.

She's running like a fool when she should be facing him in a challenge. _Should_ have challenged him if she had lusted for his bitch-wife enough to even dream of stealing her away.

He crosses his legs and closes his eyes, jaw ticking.

Well, he will deal with them both this time. Permanently.

* * *

The port security office is busier than it has ever been, in Wardyn's memory. That's less to do with his officers than Kirk's, who have swarmed the place like paranoid little ants ready to defend their home territory. But this isn't their ship, or even a planet, so Wardyn guesses this behavior is unique to the Enterprise crew and their perception that "home" is wherever their captain goes. Kirk doesn't strike Wardyn as the type to be worried about his own safety, and so Wardyn suspects he didn't summon this many security officers. Captain's orders or not, it doesn't stop them from clogging up the archways and guarding the exits like they expect another Big Bad Guy to pop up any second now.

Then there's the captain himself.

Somebody must have brought Kirk a replacement outfit, which is just as well. Wardyn had doubted anyone could have taken Kirk seriously in such an unfashionable get-up. In Starfleet's standard uniform (gold shirt and blank pants), the captain cuts a visually distracting figure in a different way. An intimidating way.

But that could also be a side-effect of the man's flat, no-nonsense expression coupled with the hellfire in his gaze. Kirk is pissed off and not hiding the fact.

This is the week Wardyn should have taken vacation, like his wife had suggested just two days ago. He had grumbled at the thought of going to his sister-in-law's house where her fifteen offspring would cling to him like burrs and demand Uncle Wardyn cart them around _now_. This might be worse than that.

No, it is. He is stuck between a rock and a hard place. The Port Chief is terrified of the bad publicity of them flubbing a kidnapping case and wants them to heroically save the day. Wardyn knows they simply aren't equipped to handle it. Port Authority employs some smart, talented folks but in truth the team is better suited to stopping coolant leaks and busting up bar fights. When compared to Kirk's whip-smart officers, it feels like they are a bunch of bumbling children among adults.

But he has his pride; so does his staff. He also has a strong sense of responsibility. A Starfleet officer was taken on _his_ watch. So no matter what the truth may be concerning how unskilled and unprepared everyone is, they are going to help.

Kirk is talking in low tones with Mr. Spock. Wardyn had been introduced to Kirk's First Officer after the Vulcan's return from a medical examination. From the look of the commander, he took the brunt of the fallout from the failed recovery operation. But whatever his actual injuries, the port's chief medic had said Mr. Spock refused to return to the Enterprise then explained in the same breath that Kirk's medical staff had cleared the commander to work. "I am functional," as the Vulcan had put it when Kirk challenged Spock's personal report. Kirk is obviously torn between wishing his second-in-command would look after himself better and being grateful he has the man around. These two trade opinions and suggestions on every minute detail, sometimes finishing each other's sentences. Partners who have been working together for a long, long time.

The other injured officers were shipped back to the Enterprise and replaced by more grim-faced men. Not everyone was happy about staying out of the action, apparently, as Wardyn overheard a clipped conversation between Kirk and that Mr. Chekov they had had to request an emergency beam-out for. Based on eyewitness testimonies, Chekov is the one who tried to single-handedly strangle the giant now locked up in the central holding cell; he broke a forearm in the process. That bone is newly regenerated, Chekov had informed his captain, and he is cleared to come back down. Kirk denied the request. Chekov called his captain something nasty in Russian. To Wardyn's shock, Kirk had disregarded the insubordination and said patiently, "I need you where you are, Pavel." Then the conversation quickly turned to Chekov performing some complex procedures to scan for McCoy using the flagship's latest technology.

Kirk is a well-liked captain, Wardyn surmises from that eavesdropping. Respected. There isn't an officer in the room who looks as though he wished to be anywhere else. Wardyn might be slightly envious of that if he didn't already know his own people had little qualms with his command.

Although, he thinks sourly, there is one who _does_ prefer Captain Kirk, spying the very fellow trading elbow shoves with that storeowner who always finds something to complain about. Huido and Murtee appear to be egging each other on to interrogate their new cellmate.

The cellmate, while still ignoring the pair, does seem to be growing more and more irritated by their not-so-quiet whispers.

Waryn often wishes Officer Huido would go ahead and retire, but then he thinks about what that might mean and the end result is rather alarming: Huido, running that junk shop part-time with Murtee; or, god forbid, opening his own little business next door. The shop owner doesn't take well to competition or the perception of it. Half of the weekly call-ins to the station are about Murtee threatening a fellow member of his vendor's association or instigating a public shouting match with neighbors. They let Huido take those calls simply because Huido has a knack for scrapping right back with Murtee in a way that seems to calm the hot-headed shopkeeper down.

There is no doubt in the commander's mind that while one of them alone is a nuisance, the pair together are _trouble_.

"Bring the new guy to the record room in five minutes," he orders the officer on brig duty. "And don't let Huido sneak out. I can't deal with him right now."

"Yes, sir."

"Kirk!" Wardyn calls. "Ready to get started?" he asks when Kirk comes his way, the Vulcan in close attendance.

"More than ready," responds the captain.

Wardyn shows him to the area where their interrogation will take place, and then calls in extra men to remain on stand-by, as is protocol when there is the potential for a violent outburst or an attempt at escape. He's not taking any chances with this big guy.

Said guy is escorted by three guards into the record room in short order. Mr. Spock trades a look with his captain before moving to stand aside with the other officers. Kirk waits until the perp is pushed into a chair before circling the table. The fellow's name is Chee, Wardyn learns. For his part, he takes a seat as well, relaxing, hoping he looks almost friendly when in truth he feels nothing of the sort.

The tension in the room heightens with the silence. Kirk stops midway between Wardyn and Chee, each at one end of the long table.

Wardyn activates a universal translator despite that, based on observation, the alien appears to knows their language fairly well. "I won't mince words," he begins, fixing his gaze on Chee. "You're under arrest for kidnapping and assault. Normally I would give you a chance to deny these charges or defend your actions but a few men were injured because of you and we have plenty of witnesses." He pauses to allow for an interjection, but Chee only keeps glaring at everyone in the room. "Keep in mind if the Starfleet officer dies, you _will_ be held accountable. So, make this easy on yourself and us. Tell us what we want to know, Mr. Chee. Where's McCoy?"

"Don't know," the alien grunts. "I'm not with him, am I?"

_Great_, thinks the commander. This fool wants to play word games.

Kirk already looks like he wants to strangle the guy. "You were moving McCoy to a location when we identified you. Where?"

Chee bares his teeth. "I forgot."

Kirk slams his hands down on the table suddenly. A few of Wardyn's men flinch but none of Kirk's do. "I'm not in the mood of jokes."

"Ha-ha-ha," gurgles Chee, somehow managing to look doubly menacing while taunting them.

Wardyn doesn't condone interrogation by torture but, in that moment, he can sympathize with the need to punch the guy. He looks to Kirk. "I think he's too stupid to know anything."

Kirk straightens up, still eyeing Chee. "Yeah. I wouldn't rate his intelligence above a Denebian slugworm."

Chee rattles his cuffed hands against the table. "_Humans_ are the stupid ones." He glares at Kirk. "Your healer walked right into our trap. Then he didn't even offer a fight!"

"Why him?" asks Kirk. "Did you want his skill set or to send a message to those he represents?"

Chee snorts.

Wardyn advises, "You should answer the question. Your actions have repercussions that go far beyond this station. A threat to one Starfleet officer is a threat to all—and their institution."

"We may not look like warriors to your kind but we know how to fight," Kirk says softly.

Chee doesn't appear to be getting the message. "You were too weak to defeat me, Captain."

Kirk shows his teeth, the same way the other one does. "I was holding back. Want to go again?"

For a brief second, the alien actually looks intrigued by the offer. Then he seems to catch himself and bangs his cuffs loudly onto the table. "I say no more."

"Don't be a fool," Wardyn says. "Even silence can precipitate a war—_especially_ silence. Right now, you are the voice of your people, as I speak for mine."

"He doesn't understand, Commander. He _is_ that much of a fool."

"You're wrong," growls Chee. "I speak for no race, nor any master. And I'm not part of any stinkin' Federation like yours."

Kirk presses his palms against the table, leaning into Chee's face. "Mister, right now, it doesn't matter to me where you come from or what your laws are there. You're in my territory, and you took my officer. So we play by _my_ rules." Kirk looks Chee over like Chee is lacking in some way. "Not that I care, but you seem well-acquainted with this kind of interrogation. A guy like you, all muscle and no thought, always on the wrong side of the law. Oh yeah, I've seen your kind before."

Wardyn who had been silent until then breaks the tension following that accusation. "Mr. Chee, your crimes _here_ are enough for us to throw you in a prison for a long time. If your people want to make a fuss over it, we'll deal with that when the time comes."

Kirk snorts softly. "And if those people like you as little as you like them, I don't imagine they'll come to your rescue. You could be in prison for decades." He smirks slightly. "Possibly permanently. I mean, truth be told, the conditions aren't too bad… but the food? Oh, the food is the absolute _worst._"

Chee snarls at that, but he also looks disconcerted.

Wardyn is impressed. Somehow Kirk knows the exact right spot to aim for with this thug—in the stomach, apparently. For those who take the quality of their meals seriously, prison food is more damning than a death sentence.

Chee doesn't say anything. He doesn't appear happy either.

Kirk pulls back and sits on the edge of the steel table, crossing his arms over his chest without taking his eyes off the other guy. "Your move," he says lightly. "Cooperate and we can set you up with your favorite snacks all day long."

Chee glances between them then flicks a long look toward Spock and the guards in the observation gallery. "Want a deal," he says at last.

Kirk and Wardyn simply wait.

"A deal for me and—" Chee quiets, rattling his cuffed hands. His pause indicates some inner turmoil. "—the Lady," he finishes.

Anger tightens Kirk's face. Wardyn has a moment of alarm, thinking Kirk is about to toss all their progress out the airlock, having finally snapped, but Kirk's jaw pops once and nothing else happens.

However, strangely enough, it's Chee who sits back, amused at the loaded silence. "My Lady," he rumbles, "is not Ruti. Lock the chit up. I don't care."

"There's someone else?" presses Wardyn, straightening up. "Who?"

"Not the mastermind," guesses Kirk, turning his head toward Wardyn. "Ruti was operating as the brains and the power."

Chee narrows his gaze. "I have brains."

They ignore that.

"Captain," Kirk's First Officer chimes in, "earlier today you suggested there must be an injured party in Dr. McCoy's care."

Kirk's gaze widens slightly. "Of course! The _Lady_," he repeats to Chee. "She needed medical aid, and that's why you took McCoy."

Chee grunts. "Yes, the Lady needed a healer." He eyes them shrewdly. "We both need protection. You protect us, and I'll show you where your McCoy is. And Ruti."

"Protect you. From who?" Kirk asks sharply.

Wardyn stands up and pulls the captain aside. "We can't give a kidnapper safe harbor."

Kirk's gaze darkens. "Agreeing is the fastest way to McCoy."

"It's a _bad_ idea."

"I don't care."

"Kirk, I understand your concern. I even sympathize with it. But this deal will never fly with your superiors."

"I'll repeat myself only once, Commander," Kirk states softly. "I do not care."

Wardyn stares, taken aback. Kirk may be young, the youngest captain ever in Starfleet and commanding their flagship no less, but the man is obviously not stupid. For reasons he is not willing to disclose to outsiders, to Kirk his career isn't nearly as important as the safe return of this Dr. McCoy.

Wardyn can almost respect that kind of foolishness. And it's clear Kirk and his team will do whatever they want with or without Port Authority to back them up.

Just what this place doesn't need more of, cowboys and their lawlessness running rampant over the docks.

He sighs through his nose, knowing he's lost this battle. "Captain, to be clear: if I'm asked why I didn't stop you, I will say you didn't give me an option."

"I'm not, sir." The corner of Kirk's mouth twitches with humor. "Although, if you think it would add flare to the explanation, I can punch you."

"You seem a little too eager to use your fists."

Kirk loses all signs of good humor. "If I had used them when they would have made a difference, maybe we wouldn't be here. Maybe McCoy would."

"Maybe things would be worse." Wardyn gives Kirk a sympathetic look. "You're a captain. You know how to gamble—but gambling with other lives never makes for an easy choice."

"Yeah." Kirk glances toward his First Officer. Then he refocuses his attention on Chee. "We need him and he knows it. But it sounds like he needs us too."

"Don't worry. He'll definitely try something. I recognize his type too. We'll be on guard."

"We all will," agrees the captain, beckoning Mr. Spock to come over. "Spock, an idea crossed my mind. If Chee and Ruti were in a rush to move Bones, is it possible they already have an escape plan in place?"

"A means of escape which either could execute without the other. It is something to consider, Captain."

Kirk turns back to Wardyn, but Wardyn says without having to be asked, "I can grant you access to our departure rosters. But, Kirk, are you sure about this?"

"I know what's been bothering me this entire time," Kirk says, lowering his voice to be heard by the three of them. "Ruti had us at her mercy. Why, then, leave this one behind when she could have used her power to help him escape with her? Because, to her, he is not a threat," the captain determines, "even knowing he could betray her."

"And therefore a suitable distraction," Wardyn supplies.

"To buy needed time. The only thing I can think of which has to require time to execute is an arrival or departure."

"Very logical, Jim," Mr. Spock says approvingly.

A smile flickers at the corners of Kirk's mouth, just briefly. "Thank you, Mr. Spock."

The port commander waves the guards toward Chee. "We're very short on time, then, if they boarded a ship."

"I should like to look that roster as soon as possible, sir," Mr. Spock says.

Wardyn agrees. Then he and Kirk study one another as Chee is led back to the detention center, with Kirk ordering Spock to keep an eye on the large alien.

Wardyn asks Kirk, "What comes next?"

"We recover my Chief Medical Officer."

"After that," he presses, sensing something brewing behind Kirk's reluctance to be forthcoming that makes him uneasy. "Do you have a plan to subdue the person who took him?"

Kirk's expression tightens. "I'm working on it."

Wardyn says, "I trust that you will, Captain—and that you share it when the time comes. Don't forget, we both have officers on the line in this operation."

Kirk nods shortly, then moves past Wardyn to catch up to the security detail.

* * *

"When will she wake up, Doctor?"

Leonard wipes sweat from his brow, feeling worse than all those times he had been dragged across grueling terrain by Jim during that first-year survival course for cadets at the Academy. Not that that had been _his_ requirement; no, his friend had volunteered him to go along as a field medic. He should have known then that was merely a taste of the adventures to come if he stayed partnered with James T. Kirk.

"She shouldn't just yet, I'm afraid. Damn idiots, whoever you paid to transport her." He eyes the scuff marks on the outside of the container now pushed aside. "They weren't gentle. I re-stabilized her but I'm worried, Ruti. If her fever builds any more, I won't have enough medicine to treat it." _And I'm only winging it now, with the basic medicine you gave me,_ he doesn't add. Ruti is so tight-lipped about where her group comes from, and there are any number of humanoid species Leonard has heard of outside of the Federation whom he has never seen in person, and probably many more he is unaware of. But there is no point in arguing with his captor for more information. Ruti is as intractable as a Vulcan when it comes to sharing personal details.

He sighs. She's afraid. First, of her Lady dying and, second, of her cousin. Under normal circumstances, Leonard would be more sympathetic, but he's a peace-maker at heart. Nothing good ever comes of forcing others to do one's bidding. Just look at what happened in that bar, to Jim and—

He shuts down that line of thinking, almost scared. Ruti is still connected to him somehow and she has already picked up on private feelings he thought he had buried deep enough in his heart they wouldn't surface again.

But damn it, he's apparently no less in love with Jim Kirk than he was years ago. And the fact that, lately, his reactions to Spock have been embarrassingly un-platonic… What a mess. When it comes to his love life, he cannot ever seem to have a normal one. It's his fault. He knows that.

As if lifting weights are strapped to his arms, he reaches for his patient's wrist again to count her heartbeat. He has that old scanner to do it for him but there's something about feeling a pulse with his thumb. It keeps him personally invested in the well-being of his patient. Some doctors think of their patients as a series of trends and stats on a PADD. Are the stats performing well, or aren't they? He never wants to be _that_ clinically detached from saving lives.

"You should reconsider taking her to the local ward," he says. "They can do more for her there than I can with antiquated tools."

"You underestimate your abilities, Dr. McCoy. My Lady was on the verge of death before placed in your care." Ruti lays her hand against the woman's cheek. "Now my hope is restored. I may hear her voice again."

McCoy says nothing of the longing in her voice—or that, accidentally or not, he can feel it too. Ironically, it seems like a reflection of his own longing.

Ruti retracts her hand and sits back on her haunches. "But we must survive what is to come, or all your work will be undone."

Oh, he is not a fan of the sound of that, even knowing what she means. "Tell me again why we can't go to the authorities and say you have a psychopath on your tail?"

Ruti shoots him an amused look. "I never told you the first time."

He mutters something unpleasant about her under his breath and feels her amusement grow. "Well, how long can we hide here?"

"Are you capable of fighting, Doctor?"

That is an abrupt change of topic, and not a welcome one. "Capable? Yes. But I prefer only doing so in self-defense."

"I do not speak of fighting with the physical body."

He pales.

She goes on, as if unaware of the sudden, subtle trembling of his normally steady hands. "I sense an untapped strength in you."

"I have no psychic abilities. I'm practically a negative on the esper rating scale," he says, voice harder, clipped, as fear stirs in the back of his mind.

"You do not possess the ability to attack another with your thoughts, that is correct. But I have learned through my travels that many species in this galaxy are not unlike mine, however limited their natural talents are. You, Dr. McCoy, can protect yourself if you are properly schooled. And you will need to," Ruti adds gravely.

She means her cousin is going to kill him. By saving this woman's life—no, by simply being here—his life is forfeit like the rest. _Oh hell_, he thinks. His mouth, the traitorous thing, says, "If I have to train to keep the bad guys out of my head, it's not you I'm gonna learn from."

"Ah." Ruti studies him briefly. "You consider your Vulcan companion a sufficient teacher?"

Leonard nods. "Not that he'd like the idea, but I trust him." Would Spock be gentle in his instruction? Undoubtedly. Patient? More patient than Leonard himself would be. They could set it up like a collaborative experiment, take notes, review his progress together. There would be valuable results to share based on his rate of adaptability, and there cannot be many instances of humans learning the art of mental shielding, especially from Vulcans. Did Spock's mother ever learn from his father?

Oh yes, Spock would be the perfect teacher.

Leonard realizes he is flushed, perhaps a bit excited by the prospect. Damn, he must really be ill (and possibly out of his mind). Being tempted to take a mental joyride with Spock must be a side-effect of Ruti running roughshod over his mind to control him.

"We have a compromise," Ruti says as though Leonard needs the reminder. "I must return you, yet the task seems impossible to execute." She stands up and turns to him. "What if I bring the Vulcan to you? Would that satisfy my debt?"

"Not if you intend to harm either of us or steal us away," Leonard says carefully. "And is Spock in any condition to face this powerful cousin of yours?" Why did he say that? But it's true. He's not comfortable with the idea of luring Spock into a desperate, deadly situation. Not simply to save his own life.

Ruti says nothing for an oddly long moment.

Leonard presses his mouth flat. "What? Did I offend you? Did I just shoot down your best idea?"

"No," she murmurs at last. "You gave me an idea, Doctor."

He springs to his feet—and instantly regrets it as the room spins a bit. While steadying himself against the wall and trying to ignore his vertigo, he snaps at her, "Whatever your bright idea is, forget it!"

She cocks her head curiously at him. "Why are you upset?"

"Because you're going to use somebody, I can tell, and it's probably Spock. Well, leave him alone!"

She nods, satisfied by something. "You are surprisingly intuitive. I was thinking of your Vulcan. With his strength added to mine, it would be possible to stop my cousin."

"No!" says Leonard, more alarmed than before. "By 'stop' you mean murder. Spock won't help you do that." _And I won't let him._

She finally looks irritated. "Our people are not so different. Violence is inbred in us to a degree. Why do you pretend otherwise?"

"It's not pretense, Ruti. There are better pursuits than aggression. Your way leads only to death."

"Then should _we_ die instead?"

"Life takes precedence over death. Ours _and_ his. We fight if we have to, but we don't kill when there's another way."

"I do not understand you," she says, "or your beliefs but I respect your intellect. You said the Vulcan will not agree to help. Then he is of the same mind as you are."

"He's a pacifist," Leonard confirms, "like most of his people. More so than mine. It's wrong to ask him to go against that."

Ruti sighs softly. "Whatever his policies, yours, or your Federation's, I do not share them. My only concern is the strength I can bring to bear against my cousin Zanceas. He is the greater threat, therefore it would be senseless to waste myself in battle with any other." She says then, "Without the Vulcan to help you shield yourself and because you refuse my offer to teach you, you will likely die, Dr. McCoy."

"I was going to die someday anyway." Leonard drops his arms to his sides. "If we're done here, back to my original question: how long are we hiding out?"

"We are not hiding. The captain informed me of a malfunction that prevents us from departing. He is lying, of course. We will go nowhere in this ship." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Zan will find us here soon."

Leonard hesitates a moment, then takes a seat again beside his patient's bed. "So we're waiting for him to show up and wreak havoc?"

"No," she answers, "those we wait for seek _you_."

McCoy's stomach drops.

_Chee will lead them here_, her mind whispers to his, _and my promise to you shall be fulfilled._

But what is she going to do with Jim and the others?

The doctor meets her gaze and shudders.

_Rest_. The suggestion floats to him, unbidden. _Rest now, Dr. McCoy._

His eyes close of their own accord, and faintly he feels his body slide sideways off its chair and slump to the floor. Then he senses Ruti retreating from the room until even that sensation, too, fades.

Floating in darkness, he waits for fear and loneliness. But he is not alone, discovering instead unexpected comforts: A hand on his shoulder. _Jim_. Fingers lightly pressed to his cheek and nose. _Spock_.

He doesn't know where these feelings come from or why he is able to conjure them. Leftover memories, perhaps?

It doesn't matter, he decides. He exists with the ones he loves in a place where no one can keep them apart.

* * *

Spock stops talking mid-sentence and stares blankly. A thousand red alerts go off in Jim's head. He catches the Vulcan by the shoulders, giving Spock a slight shake. The other officers in the utilitarian van snap to attention.

Wardyn twists around from the front passenger seat. "Kirk?"

Kirk blocks them all out, including the staring Chee and one of the prisoner's guards who nervously lays a hand on the phaser on his belt.

"Spock?" he calls quietly, tightening his grip on his second-in-command's shoulders.

Spock blinks. "Captain?" Then, "Jim, I felt—" He falls silent, blinking again, and lifts a hand to Kirk's face.

Jim freezes at first, then realizes Spock is moving slowly enough to give him time to dodge the touch. Then when Spock's hand hovers a moment to allow Jim more time to decide, he relaxes his grip on Spock, a tacit agreement to proceed. If Spock needs to communicate with him in this way, then what he needs to share must be important—and only remain between them.

Cool fingertips align to his face. Jim has a fleeting apprehension, not because he worries about what Spock is doing (or is capable of doing) but out of instinct when at the precipice of something very outside of normal for him. And no matter how many times Kirk and Spock connect through the mind-meld, it always feels a bit strange.

This isn't the usual push of information, Jim quickly comprehends. This is… _Bones?_

Spock's voice follows. _Yes. I felt a… calling._

_Bones can call to you telepathically?_ Jim is both shocked and bemused. _Since when?_

Amusement flows from the Vulcan. _You worry needlessly. Leonard has not gained the ability to read minds. _A pause, then. _The moment Ruti attacked, I knew she intended to take him from us. I had but a moment to react, to connect with him. It was done in haste, so that link is merely a thread. When conscious, he would not be aware of it and therefore she would not detect it in his mind._

_You're telling me you created a way for us to track Bones?_

_Unfortunately not. Such would require a stronger link. However, I can monitor his well-being and provide strength if needed. Hope._ More hesitation, a surfacing of doubt. _It would have been proper to ask permission first._

_McCoy would understand._ Jim feels certain of that.

The doubt vanishes, after which Spock informs Jim gravely, _This is why I cannot return to the ship. Over that distance, the thread would dissolve._

_Understood._ Jim feels Spock's amusement again. _What?_

_We have attracted an abnormal amount of attention, Captain._

Jim works that out and becomes slightly embarrassed. _Next time, ensuring there's a little privacy first would be best, Mr. Spock._

_I quite agree._

_Anything else?_

_Negative,_ Spock replies, but some part of Kirk recognizes Spock's mind analyzing new information and drawing a conclusion he would like to share. Why Spock holds back, Jim does not know.

The Vulcan withdraws his mind and then, in view of everybody else, his hand from Jim's face. The silence afterward inside the van is notably awkward.

"Kirk." Commander Wardyn clears his throat. "Care to share with the class?"

There isn't much Kirk can tell them except, "Mr. Spock thinks McCoy is nearby but unconscious.

No one asks how Spock would know that, or why he had to express it to Jim in such an unusual fashion. Jim gets the feeling that no one dares to ask—and that makes it easier for everyone, himself included. He couldn't explain it without admitting to a few other truths.

But now he is convinced he needs to more deeply consider the possibilities inherent in what Spock can do and offer. Threads and links, varying in strength and capacity. New, intimate ways to unite alike minds. Yes, very interesting possibilities, indeed. In the near future, Jim has some homework to do discreetly on the various Vulcanian telepathic bonds. M'Benga might know something useful.

After Bones is safely returned to where he belongs, Kirk promises silently. When his head turns to Spock, he is unsurprised to see the reflection of a similar promise in Spock's dark eyes.

Satisfied that Spock has his own reasons to pursue a new facet to their relationship, Kirk faces the others, mentally steeling himself for the likely hostile reception awaiting them at their destination.


	8. Part Eight

In a brig cell, a man loudly stamps his feet. "I must know what is happening!" he cries with passion. When he launches himself at the force field, he's just shy of being soundly electrocuted. "I should be with my comrades! Why must you do this to me?"

No guards glance in his direction. It's easier that way; safer too, given their commanding officer's strict orders to ignore any attempts at wheedling, plea-bargaining, demands for release and especially tearful remorse.

But there is one person who simply cannot ignore him.

Reclining the length of the bench jutting from the wall, his cellmate lifts his arm from across his eyes and says with a tone of remonstrance, "Huido, stop your awful whining! I'm going deaf!"

An affronted Huido rounds on him. "You don't have ears!"

Murtee twitches his antennae. "I can still hear you, idiot."

"I just want my pleas to be heard!"

His friend sits up to shout, "And they are—deafeningly!"

Huido raises his hands, allows them to fall briefly before finally laying them across his face. He lets an alarming sob. Crossing his arms defiantly, Murtee looks away.

That defiance is short-lived.

"Huido," the shop owner tries again, in a less prickly manner (which visibly makes him uncomfortable). "Have some common sense. We're in _jail_. There's nothing we could possibly do to help even if we—I mean, _one_ of us were inclined to!"

The officer drops his hands to reveal dry cheeks and a burning gaze, hissing lowly, "My point exactly. We must _escape_."

Murtee rocks back as if shoved. "B-But that would make us criminals!"

"We're going to break out," Huido declares rather brutally. "It is no less than the Great Captain Kirk would do if _his_ friends were in trouble."

"He doesn't even know you," argues the shopkeeper as he jumps to his feet, "and you don't have any friends but me! Boulderhead!" He sounds put-upon that Huido dares to test the limits of their friendship now.

"I can't do this without you." Huido clasps a hand to his companion's shoulder. "I need you, Murtee."

"You, you—I knew I shouldn't have befriended a Human! You think glory is better than profits!" The rant fizzles out quickly. "Fine, then. What does this escape entail?"

Huido leans in to whisper conspiratorily, "Have you ever experienced cardiac arrest?"

"What an idiotic question!" Murtee's gaze narrows at the eager-looking man. "For the record, I refuse to be responsible for the outcome of your terrible ideas. If you're fired and lose your retirement package, don't look for a job in my shop! And, Huido," he threatens, "there had better be a shop left standing when it's over."

Huido pats him lightly. "I swear I will protect your income with my life."

Murtee acknowledges the promise with a satisfied sniff. "So, who do we find first? Your pals, who can arrest us again? The Chief of Port, who will kick us out into space? No, don't tell me! The bad guys!" His tone of voice turns derisive. "Honestly, who bothers with kidnapping these days when extortion is a perfectly serviceable means of crime?"

Huido dismisses every suggestion with an impatient hand-flap. "There is but one, Murtee."

At his friend's long look, Murtee mutters, "Just wonderful. Kirk it is."

* * *

The van separates from the stream of endless vehicles around the outer ring and rolls to a stop at a suitable distance from the sector dedicated to commercial freighters. Jim is the first to jump out, striding for the connector gangway to look down the long line of occupied transit docks. His face is pinched unhappily as he reaches the guard rail. He instantly makes his concern known to the person approaching him from behind. "How do we save Bones?"

"The options are limited," admits Spock, "although we have gained a small advantage from the vessel's delayed departure."

Jim turns to face him, one hand tightening on the rail, the other lifting as if to touch the Vulcan's shoulder. But that hand hesitates and drops to Kirk's side.

"If we storm the ship, things won't go any better than they did at the bar." When Spock offers nothing to the contrary, Jim studies the officer, expression turning grimmer. "There's a saying, Mr. Spock. Fight fire with fire."

"From one of Earth's most beloved poets, William Shakespeare. I am aware of it."

Jim swallows hard and looks resigned.

"I understand," Spock goes on. "I accept."

"Part of me doesn't want to ask it of you. You're not a weapon, Spock. But I—" The captain presses his mouth to a thin line. "No matter how I turn the problem, our best chance is always you."

"Affirmative." The Vulcan hesitates barely a fraction of a second before adding, "If it should ease your concern, know that I am willing, Jim."

"Thank you for that but, to be frank," Jim argues softly, "I shouldn't be your captain if I am able to stop worrying about you so easily."

"You would not be my friend—nor I, yours."

The man almost smiles. "Yeah, that too."

It's Spock's turn to study his companion closely. "I should hope you have not forgotten our arrangement."

"Arrangement, Spock?" At last, Jim's mouth tilts upward gently. "I thought it was more of a mutual agreement."

"That was not my understanding."

"Are we really arguing about this _now?_"

"I see no need for an argument, as I was merely stating a fact. We are not divided on the matter; our interests and motives are the same."

Jim inhales quickly, clearly thinks better of what could be said just then, and settles on, "Another time, Commander. The priority is McCoy."

"Undeniably." Spock knows his captain well enough to make his next remark a statement rather than a question. "You have a plan."

Jim nods. "It may not be much of one, but it will have to do." He sighs, then. "If only I could share the risk… Well, that's a moot point, isn't it? You have the skill set we need to get McCoy out of there. I don't." He looks aside under the Vulcan's gaze. "But I find I keep asking myself if I should allow you to take on that risk alone in your… present condition."

"Dr. M'Benga attested—"

"That report is debatable, mister, and you know it!" Kirk snaps suddenly. "McCoy's staff won't block his best chance of survival. They don't want to lose him any more than we do… any more than I want to lose you!" He seems to shrink in on himself in that moment. "And gods, if I lost you _both_, I—how could I—" His voice fades before the sentiment is fully realized.

Spock takes one step forward, pulling his captain's gaze back to him, his own gaze demanding the man not look away. "To borrow a phrase from the Doctor, you are seeking trouble where it does not yet exist. I am with you now, and if you will trust me, soon Leonard will be as well."

"I trust you."

"Indeed. Then consider this: the inevitable is only that my ability and training make me best-suited to engage the enemy. How we use the advantage is of our own choosing."

Kirk's gaze sharpens. "What do you mean, _our_?"

Spock almost seems amused, then. "Jim, it would be most logical if you share your approach to the situation before I venture into an explanation regarding the nuances of Vulcan telepathy."

And so Jim does and, true to his word, Spock does too.

By the end of it all, Kirk has relented in both look and tone. He may in fact be experiencing slight nerves, quickly masked. The man remarks rather weakly to the other, "Bones will have plenty to say once he finds out."

"That, sir," Kirk's Vulcan officer states primly, "is trouble for another time."

A voice cuts across to the pair, Commander Wardyn's, who has kindly allowed the men some privacy until then. "Captain," he calls, "we're ready to move."

Kirk and Spock meet him along the gangway. "Commander," Jim says with calm decision, "earlier you asked me about a plan." He shares eye contact with Spock just briefly. "We have one."

* * *

The dark trembles at a distant howling, some faint, hungry pulse of ill intent. Leonard's mind instinctively knows to shy away from it, praying urgently, _Don't look over here. Don't. Stay away._ The desire, that voice in his head, gradually becomes less his, its pitch higher, tone calm, yet not. The other voice has strength and somehow is still afraid—and Leonard is bound to it. Run away or hide, which course of action should he choose?

Then abruptly the choice is taken from him. A demand of _Doctor!_ drives awareness down upon him, and he surfaces reflexively, leaving behind that growing sense of danger. Numbness recedes but anxiety replaces it, and the moment before opening his eyes, Leonard is too overwhelmed. How can he be so helpless, so useless? He can't protect his body or his mind!

Tendrils of calm breach the ugly thoughts, a familiar touch akin to fingertips against skin. The sensation presses to him, and it's invitingly warm. It urges him to recognize what it is to him. Protection and more.

He thinks at it a bit grumpily, mollified, _Where have you been?_, and as the warmth begins to shape itself into a distinct form—

—the thing which had brought Leonard to awareness yanks him with a cruel taloned grip completely to consciousness.

A befuddled McCoy finds himself blinking at a sudden onslaught of light, standing upright in the middle of a bridgeway. A part of him mourns for an unknown reason, vaguely recalling there had been a need, a question, and almost an answer.

"Dr. McCoy," Ruti says severely, "you must cease to try my patience."

A sigh shudders from his body. "What then?" he demands a moment later, raising his chin to glare defiantly at her. "You want me to agree to be your puppet?"

"That would certainly simplify matters."

He uses a few choice words to describe her.

Unfazed, Ruti leads them from the bridgeway to a wide-open area. The command center of the ship, realizes McCoy, taking in the layout of the deck, a smaller version of the Enterprise's bridge though less sophisticated. That man—no, captain—from earlier is seated at its center, facing away from them. When McCoy and Ruti move to the side of his chair, he sees why. The captain is shaking slightly, gripping the chair arms with a force that implies if he lets go, he believes he might be hurled from his seat.

Leonard realizes then this isn't the only odd thing on the bridge; the atmosphere itself is subdued, rank with fear. The other bridge officers don't react at all to their intrusion, like their captain staring wide-eyed straight ahead.

"I expected better of you," Ruti says to the man, fully circling the chair to stand in front of him.

The captain's eyes roll wildly in distress, but he says not a word.

The moment Leonard realizes why, he explodes in horror, "Ruti! Let these people go!"

She continues her careful study of the terrified man. "We are in need of friends, Doctor. At this very moment, Zanceas is searching the port for us through his Scavengers." When she looks aside, it is to stare at one of the walls of the bridge as though her gaze sees past it. "Chee is also close—which means your captain cannot be far behind."

McCoy could say any number of things to her, like how it would be in her best interest to surrender to the authorities, that she shouldn't take more hostages unless she wants a full-out war, to demand to know how any grand plan could stave off her crazy, supposedly more powerful cousin. What's the point of all this violence? he wants to cry out. Why didn't you _ask_ for help instead of simply taking it by force?

Yet his brain chooses the most menial of all his concerns. He spouts back, "Do you even know what a friend is? Or do you just…" The doctor waggles his fingers at his head. "…make them think they like you?"

That indifferent countenance finally cracks as Ruti shifts her attention from her newest trembling victim, and Leonard is surprised to see what lies beneath it. He had thought Ruti to be reserved in expressing herself, afraid to own any vulnerability, when it seems the truth is far less palatable. Her expression is alien, haughty, and irritated; her gaze, callous. Leonard once saw that look in the faces of the advisors of Ardana, thinking of themselves as gods in Heaven while their inferiors suffered in Hell's mines far below the clouds.

In this instance, Leonard is the inferior one. Her disdain of him is not simply for his rudeness. He sees she balks at his audacity to believe his rudimentary knowledge of her kind qualifies him to have an opinion at all.

"Manipulation of emotions is forbidden," she informs him with indignant disgust.

Leonard's eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. He didn't think Ruti's race limited their powers in any way, particularly since it would be a kindness to call her morally gray. Maybe at another time, he would feel chastened but the freighter crew's horror is almost palpable and Leonard cannot forgive her for that.

"Warping people's thoughts and feelings, that's where you draw the line? But I don't see how that's different than you lying to me so you could trap me!" he argues. "Deceit is deceit, regardless of the method. You made me come here against my will, and now look! These are _innocents_, and you trapped them too! So don't tell me you know better than I do about your actions!"

"I have told you before, your concept of morality is not mine. Simply because you fail to reconcile my actions to your expectations does not mean you are correct."

Leonard snaps back, "I'm part of a Federation of dozens of races. Some of our citizens don't even have physical _bodies_, so can your bullshit argument of 'we're not like you'! Being of different cultures doesn't preclude people from living by the same principles. And in _this_ Federation, everyone agrees: to terrorize, subjugate, harm, or defraud another living being is a crime. The one in the wrong is _you_ because you don't have the right to come into our territory and think you're above our philosophy and our laws!" He scoffs loudly. "And I here had hoped you knew the basic courtesy of showing respect when visiting somebody else's home. Guess you weren't raised on that concept either!"

For a split second, Leonard thinks she might deign to strike him physically for his outburst. Then a strangled noise issues forth from the captain, startling McCoy. The man half-rises from his seat in the next instant before dropping back to his seat, utterly boneless, gulping air. Muffled groans and whimpers rise up around the bridge from the other crewmen.

Leonard is stunned. Did he actually win an argument?

Ruti heads toward the front of the bridge, saying coldly as she goes, "I freed them of my influence, Doctor. Is your conscience satisfied?"

Leonard isn't concerned about his conscience, not when it is hers that's giving him fits. Still, their release from her control is a small victory.

"For the moment," he agrees.

Ruti turns back to stare McCoy and the captain, her voice level once more. "Take care with your thoughts."

There is a frightening truth to the warning. Leonard closes his eyes, willing himself not to think too deeply of anything. But it's hard not to think when he aches to see Jim and Spock again and know they are safe.

He's been so concerned over his powerlessness, he has forgotten that he does have an advantage which his captor does not. Where Ruti is friendless and has been pushed to act alone, relying only on herself, Leonard counts himself lucky to have many friends. Two of them in particular have always been his greatest support system. Though his way of befriending one is different than the other, it is a fact that both friendships have become equally strong and precious. Leonard only needs to trust in Jim and Spock to try their best for his sake.

He opens his eyes to find Ruti watching him with an odd expression. He doesn't like the attention.

But she only says, "If your love is so strong, why have you kept your silence?"

Leonard can't answer that and instead settles on thinking sourly that it took a kidnapping and someone else's impartial observations of his thoughts to make him realize what a coward he is when it comes to love.

Why has he chosen to ignore his feelings for Jim and Spock? In hindsight, it seems like an idiotic thing to do. Jim has repeatedly teased him about their close relationship, claiming they must have been an old married couple in a previous life. Spock has made clear, concentrated efforts to know Leonard better over the past few months, which has had the positive effect of softening their interactions. And, beyond a doubt, both men have in their own way brought McCoy happiness.

Is it really so far-fetched, then, that they could think of him as more than a friend? Is sharing a love impossible? But, Leonard thinks, haven't they proven time and time again the impossible can become possible under the right circumstances?

He is pulled out of his thoughts by his own embarrassment at feeling so pleased in time to catch the words "compensation" and "contact".

Oh hell, the doctor realizes, he should have been listening to Ruti's conversation with the captain instead of daydreaming about romance! Something's afoot if the sudden eager tone of the captain is anything to go by.

"He's rich, you say?" the captain repeats. "How much could I get?"

"A handsome sum," Ruti assures the man, "if your efforts in our capture are confirmed."

Leonard sputters, "C-Capture!"

Ruti doesn't glance his way.

The captain shifts his gaze side-to-side, taking in a doubtful-looking crew. "Won't your cousin have powers like you? How is our safety guaranteed?" Despite the questions, the greedy look in the man's eyes implies an already made-up mind regardless of the answer.

"You have experienced merely a taste of my abilities, Captain. Meet with Prime Zanceas and encourage him to come aboard anticipating victory. Then everything he brought with him will be yours. You can have your men take it from his ship while he is occupied here. After all, what dead man has need of riches? Better that his wealth lines your pocket than his coffin."

"Ah, ah, I see! Very good." The captain motions to one of his men. "I sent my foreman portside not long ago. Let me make a call to him. He will bring this Prime." He chortles, no doubt at the thought of the payment to come along with their quarry.

Ruti shakes the captain's hand with a cool smile, and Leonard's stomach sinks in turn. He doesn't think this scenario can possibly end well for any of them. That captain is a fool.

Ruti addresses McCoy then, as if remembering his presence. "We must see about that Vulcan, Doctor."

"I said to leave him out of this! Haven't you caused enough damage!"

"There is no need to trick Mr. Spock here, Dr. McCoy. Your presence is all the enticement required. He comes, whether you will it so or not."

_Take care_, McCoy thinks to Spock. Ruti is quite correct in her assertion: Spock will not consider a risk to himself sufficient reason to stay away from the dangerous telepath who has already injured him once before.

As if summoning the Vulcan himself, for the briefest moment it feels like Leonard's mind is caressed in response to that thought. But rather than wonder if he's gone crazy as a by-product of Ruti's meddling or if there is the slightest possibility his dear Vulcan heard him, Leonard opts not to call attention to it. He tells his captor instead, "You won't like it when he shows up."

"It is a risk I must take," she responds implacably, "or this chase shall never end."

Leonard supposes it is futile at this point to wish she had not dragged him into it in the first place.

* * *

A confused Commander Wardyn gives in to the temptation to rub at his forehead. He had heard rumors about Kirk being quite the tactician under duress, but something tells him the rumor mill has made light of the man's true abilities—or, more probably, not properly expressed the fact that Kirk has genuinely _crazy_ ideas.

But this idea might just work.

"And where do you propose to find that kind of equipment?" he asks Kirk.

The captain and his Vulcan officer trade a quick glance. Then Kirk is smirking.

"Oh, I have a few things lying around," he tells Wardyn, flipping open a communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise. Uhura, is Chekov available?"

"Yes, sir, and still pouting. Ah, he just called you a dick in Russian again."

Instead of having a fit as anyone else might over the insult, Kirk laughs like he's just been told a funny joke. "Transfer me, Lieutenant."

"Keptin," comes the not-quite surly tone Wardyn recognizes as the young officer from an earlier call that day, "are you requesting my assistance?" It goes unsaid, they all can infer, that Chekov might not readily cooperate unless the order is to his liking.

"Mr. Chekov!" Kirk responds jovially. "As a matter of fact, I do need of your assistance! Do you recall our 'Enterprise Incident' and the, ah, implements we used then?"

Whatever that is code for, it infuses pep into Chekov's tone. "Yes, _sir._"

"Would you be so kind as to fetch that box from my quarters and transport it to these coordinates?"

"Aye aye, Keptin! I can do zhat!"

Another officer comes across the line. "Capt'n, I cannae believe I'm saying this but considering what happened last time, I need to remind of the regulations."

Kirk looks warmly at his first officer. "Mr. Spock has already informed me of all _six_ possible violations, Mr. Scott."

The man huffs. "Aye. In that case, sir, good luck. Let us know what else we can do."

"You'll be the first to know. Thanks. Kirk out."

"An interesting crew you have there, Captain," Wardyn comments.

Kirk smiles at him. "The very best crew, Commander. Now, about the rest of that plan."

Wardyn's stomach does a somersault. There's _more?_ But he listens closely as Kirk allows Spock to explain, a quite roundabout account of some telepathic technique the Vulcan intends to perform. Wardyn is certain he's deliberately vague on the details, but there are some things a man doesn't need or want to know and this is one of those things.

Wardyn decides as Kirk and Spock look at him expectantly for a reaction, the rumors don't paint the full picture at all. Kirk's gambles might be out-of-the-box and not fully rational in their entirety but Kirk's officers are obviously willing to back their brash young captain's orders without question. It begs the question: is his crew just as crazy?

And yet, Wardyn feels a spark of excitement for what's to come. Should they manage to pull off this plan, then it will certainly be one of the wildest moments of Wardyn's career. How can he refuse?

He turns to his lead patrolman and says, "Bring Mr. Chee."

A satisfied Kirk nods and crosses his arms over his chest. A container shimmers into existence at his feet. "Gentlemen, let us begin."

* * *

Zan flicks a thought at the servant he senses in the corridor beyond his cabin. His upper lip curls in distaste at the male's nerves at being contacted so directly, though Zan has merely ordered the dreg to fetch his dinner with haste. Retreating from that pathetically weak mind, the Prime steeples his fingers and closes his eyes, adopting a lazy repose that would seem unordinary to any uninformed observer. But Zanceas' mind is fast at work, narrowing with laser-like focus to seek out and connect with his Scavengers, already on the hunt inside the station.

The pack's echoing keens quickly build to a raging howl of hunger until that roiling madness momentarily engulfs his thought pattern, causing his muscles to lock and sweat to form along his hairline. A lesser-trained mind than Zanceas' would easily be snatched up by the torrent and sweep away, and the creatures would welcome the devouring. He is a feast of hands and face, skin and flesh, buoyed by a crystalline-like power that could sate their bellies for a month. It takes asserting all the formidableness of his will as a Prime to quell them to obedience. These days far too few masters dare to take on the risk of cultivating Scavengers; but his Clan still follows the ways of their ancestors, seeing fit to use the creatures as the apex predators they are instead of taming them for the house and grounds like pets. Zan has made certain to excel at it.

The pack would bay if they had voices. There's a sickly sweet scent of illness in the air. Their desire becomes Zan's, and his mouth waters in anticipation. _Where?_ he thinks desperately. _Where is it?_ He must eat. He's so _hungry_.

No, that is not right. Not eat but kill. Her.

_Kill her!_

Zan snaps his mind back from the collective of theirs, his eyes flying open on a ragged inhale.

In the next instant, the cabin door slides back and the male servant enters with a covered tray. Zan launches from his chair at the man, who freezes in fear upon seeing the animalistic twist to the Prime's face. Zan rips the tray out of the servant's grasp and flings it roughly onto an oblong table, the metallic cover dropping to the floor with a startling crash.

"Out!" he screams. The servant flees.

Staggering forward, Zan lets his weight drop onto his hands, bracing himself over the dinner tray. He stares at the meal the cruiser's kitchen had prepared for him: vegetables and the meat of some beast.

A momentary image of his wife's flesh upon that plate leaves him shuddering. Once the Scavengers have her…

He should have stripped her mind to an empty and harmless husk when he discovered her betrayal. The elders had denied that request, too enamored with the political prowess from the marital ties of their Clan to his wife's.

A Prime upstaged by his own family? Ridiculous! Zanceas is fully within his rights as the cuckolded to demand such payment! And if not his wife, then they could have at least punished his cousin!

His appetite gone, he pushes from the table to walk the length of his quarters. Pacing does little to relieve his agitation so he abandons his cabin for the bridge, his anger building with each step. Small portlights guide his way. On the dimly lit bridge, he finds the secondary helmsman and a janitor on duty. At the Prime's sudden appearance, the janitor scurries for the lift, leaving behind a mop and a bucket.

"Where's the pilot?" Zanceas demands. Though of lowly status compared to a Prime, the pilot is the highest-ranked officer among the small crew.

"W-We're docked," the helmsman stutters annoyingly. "He's not needed so he went to his quarters."

"_Fools_," snarls Zan. "I have paid for your services, therefore you'll work as I see fit! Call him to the bridge at once!"

The helmsman complies with haste after Zanceas sends the cleaning bucket tumbling over the deck with a kick. When the pilot doesn't answer his cabin's comm unit, the helmsman, refusing to glance up at the scowling Prime, tries again and again. In the wan illumination, the man looks ill.

Zanceas has had his fill of the rampant incompetence aboard this vessel. He says, voice cold, "Inform your commander when he deigns to make his presence known that this _guest_ has taken leave to the port."

"Sir, do you require a guide to—"

"No," he cuts the man off, "nor do I have need of your lazy guards." _Those_ idiots had been asleep at the entrance to the private corridor leading to his room. He had briefly considered mentally slapping them out of their crude dreams.

No, in truth, the accompaniment will only slow Zanceas down. There's a sudden urgency in him to be present when the Scavengers pinpoint the exact location of his wife and cousin, and he cannot be bothered to wait for anyone's dithering.

"But, Prime, your safety is our primary concern!"

Of course it is. Should he never return home, someone will have to answer to the Clan for his loss. They'll break these simpletons' minds as penance and as a message to others. "That is your view of things," he says more coldly than ever, "and your risk. I leave at once."

And he turns to make good on his word just as an incoming message appears on the ship's viewscreen. Another pathetic-looking creature, notes Zanceas, clearly nervous but asking after the ship's inhabitants.

Asking after _him._

Zan turns back. "I am Prime. Who told you of my name?" he demands, but he already suspects the answer.

"We have your… family, Prime," the messenger says. "My captain would like to make you a deal."

Zan bares his teeth. "Are they alive?"

The messenger gulps. "Y-Yes?"

"Very good. Continue," he orders. There is treachery in the man's words but at least he has no outright lied. Ruti is very much alive at this moment, that prickling presence skirting around his awareness, not acknowledging him as he in turn refuses to acknowledge her.

Let her see him in person, hear his words, feel his anger for herself as he shreds her existence to nothing. Let both him and the Scavengers have their long-awaited feast!

* * *

**Finally, an update. I apologize for taking so long, but no more delays! I am committed to completing this story by the end of the month. Today's update will be followed by two more updates on the 21st (the confrontation!) and 28th (the romance!) respectively. I hope y'all enjoy the ride. :)**


	9. Part Nine

Chee's bellow of "No!" makes all eyes turn toward him. He bares his teeth at the collection of officers, raising his cuffed wrists and clacking his claws together threateningly.

Wardyn waves down Security's raised stunners. "It's straightforward enough, Mr. Chee. You know best how your partner operates. We need you to—"

"Not the deal. I save the Lady," the alien growls, looking like he would prefer to make his point by beating it into everyone there. "_You_ save the human!"

Wardyn turns to Kirk. "It's pointless to count on his cooperation."

"We can work around that," Kirk says curtly, only the tick of a muscle in his jaw belying the projection of calm confidence. "Mr. Chee's stature makes him an ineligible candidate anyway." The captain offers Chee a small but doubtlessly infuriating smirk. "That, and his barbaric tendencies are a dead giveaway."

Spock reminds the group, "Time is of the essence. We must choose soon."

Jim turns to Spock, tenser, concern briefly taking over his expression. "McCoy?"

The Vulcan officer inclines his head the slightest bit. "Dr. McCoy's unease mounts with each passing minute. Due to Ruti's influence, his mind senses something alarming but clarity around the matter remains elusive to me."

"Master." Chee slowly lowers his fists. "Prime. _He_ is the one to fear." Even the fierce, brutish being sounds spooked at the thought.

Kirk and Spock look for confirmation from Wardyn, who shakes his head in the negative. He says, "No report yet of such an individual in any arrival registers."

"Master would not bother to inform lessers," Chee states somberly enough that the others pay close attention. "Only our deaths matter, not laws, not your Federation."

"Nobody can just walk in here, commit murder, and get away with it," argues one of Kirk's red-shirted officers.

Chee's grunt is an unimpressed one. "Tell him that at your own risk."

"Is there another way to detect him if he's on the station?" Kirk wants to know, turning his gaze to Spock.

Spock says, "Not without alerting him to the fact we seek him."

"Damn," mutters the captain.

"If he expresses no interest in leaving his ship, it's not uncommon for privately-owned vessels to withhold ship rosters," remarks Wardyn. "This far out, we function primarily as an intergalactic pit stop. Most spacefarers stay long enough to refuel and restock supplies before heading out again."

"I think this Prime has come for more than a cursory visit," Kirk says grimly. "Given Mr. Chee's statement, we should expect hostility."

"We don't have solid intel on their kind except that their powers can debilitate us. And if we try and interfere in their business, lethal might be the better description. Kirk, we ought to keep our officers out of the fight as much as we can."

"I don't disagree."

"You don't fully agree with me either. Why?" The port commander's gaze holds the captain's. "You were lucky none of your men were killed when you ordered them into that bar, not knowing enough about the enemy."

Kirk argues, "Not knowing enough is always our situation."

"And you believe luck can be on your side every time, Captain?"

Jim offers Wardyn a flat smile. "I know it won't, which is why our current approach is probably more unorthodox than you care for… yet you're here, offering _your_ officers as backup. Enough with the hedging, Wardyn. Tell me what's really biting your ass."

"The Chief of Port is going to roast me alive if something bad happens to you and the Enterprise crew. Have a little mercy, Kirk. It's tough to be your brand of hero."

Kirk's smile grows more genuine, then. "Every person standing here is a hero for coming this far despite the unknown. If it were in my power, I would recommend merits for that."

Wardyn shakes his head slightly as, in the wake of this declaration, both his officers and Kirk's come to attention, appearing so very proud. With Starfleet's most decorated starship captain at the lead, it may be tough to be a hero but it is tougher still to deny Jim Kirk when he asks you to try.

Wardyn should have realized even his concerns could be assuaged by Kirk's smooth-talking. He sighs and begins to say, expecting every hand to fly upwards automatically, "So, who volunteers to—"

"ME! I DO!" booms a voice from the back of the crowd. The man who works his way to the front is the very last person Wardyn expects considering where he last saw the man.

Kirk's reaction seems equal to his own, for Kirk demands, "Mister, what are you doing here?"

"That's my question," mutters Wardyn from between clenched teeth. "Officer Huido, all I want to know is: who released you from the brig against my _direct_ orders? Because this is the last day either of you wears that uniform!"

Huido quells a bit beneath his steely glare, but clearly isn't scared enough to tuck tail and run straight back to the brig cell he broke out of.

"Now, now," cuts in another newcomer, sounding far more nervous than Huido at facing down the commander's wrath, "we came to help!"

When Wardyn sees Huido's companion, his temper explodes. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND! You brought a civilian?!"

The shop owner clucks disapprovingly, "I have been a citizen of this port for many years. I can go wherever I please!"

Wardyn is going to strangle them both. Immediately.

It's Mr. Spock of all people who steps into his direct path, suggesting, "Commander, perhaps you should listen to their explanation before taking decisive action."

Now hiding behind Huido, Murtee nods fervently. "Yeah, we can explain!"

Huido clears his throat a few times. "Murtee had a serious medical emergency. I certainly need not remind you, sir, that a prisoner has the right to be attended by a physician when his life is in jeopardy!"

"Then your station's medical staff must be commended for the quality and effectiveness of their work," Spock remarks dryly. "Mr. Murtee appears incredibly healthy."

Kirk places a sympathetic hand on Wardyn's shoulder, and Wardyn sighs in resignation. Is it the bane of every commanding officer to have upstarts among their juniors? And going by age, Hudio should be the maturest of them all!

"Mr. Huido." Wardyn finds himself at a loss for words if he isn't going to demote or fire the fellow on the spot. Maybe he should have someone bodily drag these two miscreants back to headquarters?

"Murtee and I volunteer," Huido goes on, no doubt taking this hesitation from his superior as a sign of acquiescence to his presence. "We are willing to do anything you ask!"

Kirk's gaze suddenly sharpens on theirs. "Anything?"

Spock turns to his captain, an eyebrow raised as if to say _isn't that convenient?_

Wardyn's stomach sinks toward his boots. Of all the talent available, it would have to be the clumsiest two, wouldn't it? It's not like Huido and Murtee have any face left to lose at this point. Sadly, that thought doesn't make Wardyn feel any better about letting them spearhead a delicate mission.

Yet he can see by the sparkle in Kirk's eyes, the captain has already decided in their favor.

Kirk confirms his guess a moment later. "Gentlemen, I can certainly use your help."

The patrolman snaps to attention with an overemotional cry of "Captain! We're yours to command!"

Sour-faced Murtee nods reluctantly after being nudged in the side multiple times.

Kirk beckons the pair closer and drops a friendly hand to the shoulder of each man. "You're a fan of mine, aren't you, Mr. Huido? Consider this a very good opportunity to observe what it's like to be me." He smiles, then, in a way that must be tantalizing for his starry-eyed fan base (as Huido is practically glowing with excitement) but to everyone else is most alarming, with the exception of Kirk's first officer, who gives an air of being amusing.

Officer Huido and his shopkeeper friend lean in together with Kirk, their gazes growing wider as he explains to them everything a renowned starship captain could possibly need them to do.

* * *

Like a bloodhound scenting the air, Ruti lifts her chin in deep concentration. "Doctor," she asks, "can you feel him?"

Oh boy, that's an understatement! The man on his way to destroy Ruti is vengeance personified. The resonance of his murderous thoughts packs a punch that twists McCoy's stomach, crawls along his spine and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. Sadly, clutching at his knees is the only way for Leonard to keep his body's embarrassing trembles under control.

Leonard is hardly adept at judging physical distance, let alone the metaphysical kind; yet the threat seems _very_ near. "It's not too late to ask for help. I swear Starfleet will do what they can to give you shelter."

"I have traveled too far to turn back now."

He doesn't think she means the light-years from her homeworld to this port in Federation space. "Then what about your partner?" he questions, looking pointedly down to his patient. "When you've worked so hard to keep her alive, why condemn her to die now?"

"We ran away because we had no choice but must we run forever, Doctor?"

A soft noise startles both of them. When McCoy realizes where it originates from, he immediately falls beside the cot, activating the antiquated medical scanner in his possession. A quick look at the readings is all he needs. "She's trying to wake up. Don't just stand there!" he snaps when he finds Ruti frozen behind him. "Help me draw her to consciousness! Talk to her!"

Leonard softens his voice as he faces his patient again. "Don't be alarmed, my dear. You're safe. My name is Leonard McCoy. I'm a doctor."

"A doctor?" comes the uncertain whisper. "W-Where is Rutiana?"

The woman's voice, however faint, breaks the spell on Ruti and draws her forward. "I am here," Ruti says, bowing over the woman. "The doctor speaks true. You are safe, my Lady."

The woman's eyes open. In silence she studies the face lingering over hers, curtained from Leonard's view by long hair. "My friend Chee. Is he safe also?"

"Yes, but he is away."

They don't speak after that—or if they do, the conversation doesn't occur conventionally.

Leonard leans back to give the pair some privacy, choosing to recalibrate the old scanner. For his efforts, it gives a sad whir and croaks. "Piece of garbage," he mutters. "Should've been recalled ages ago. Who would sell this?"

"Dr. McCoy."

Leonard glances up to find the women focused on him.

Ruti asks, "Can she be moved?"

"Her stats," that is, from what he had seen of them before the scanner's sudden demise, "have improved, but she shouldn't try to move on her own just yet. Exhaustion could cause the fever to return." He rises to his feet, frustrated. "And damn it, I'm out of decent medicine!"

Ruti's gaze returns to her partner, and she straightens up. "Zanceas has found us."

The woman looks away at those words and lays silent for some minutes while they stand watching her, not daring to move. Leonard sees exhaustion gathering in her face, pain in her eyes, but knows it isn't his place to speak.

When she faces them again, her voice is a shell of itself, but she clearly wants to say more. She moves her lips again and again until the words are finally forced free. "We tried…"

Her hands move uneasily as she whispers. Ruti clasps them with her own.

"…and… it is… enough." McCoy's patient's gaze seeks him out. "Doctor, t-thank you."

"Here now," he hushes her gently, "none of that. Save your energy. Close your eyes. Yes, good. Focus on breathing."

He advises Ruti in a lower tone, "There's one sedative packet left but she's so weak, so it might acerbate her condition." Then he looks Ruti over as an unexpected possibility occurs to him. "Maybe you could assist in relaxing her?" The idea ends as a question; Leonard is not entirely comfortable with the asking but does so for his patient's sake.

Ruti inclines her head to acknowledge having heard him, though her attention remains focused on the woman. "I have never led a mind to a healing state. That was not my station, Doctor, but for my Lady's sake, I should like to try."

Ruti closes her eyes. After some time, the patient's breathing grows slower, her body settling to stillness. McCoy checks her pulse to find it a bit stronger than before and is relieved.

He cannot help but comment, "Have you considered that if your people spent more time easing pain like that instead of causing it, happiness wouldn't be so difficult to come by?" He relents at the sharp glance sent his way. "Well, your attempt worked at least. Thank you."

"You are too kind," Ruti replies, and he can tell she doesn't mean that in a facetious way. Why he would bother to thank her seems to bemuse her. The moment passes. Her expression hardens.

She doesn't understand why, and Leonard mourns that. If she did, as he said things might never have escalated so far. But people learn on their own time, in their own ways and through their own personal trials. Some day he hopes that she—or some future generation of her people—will comprehend the importance of valuing all life and the protection thereof.

Some day can never come soon enough.

* * *

"There is one additional task you must do," Ruti had told the freighter captain after he deployed his foreman to fetch her wealthy cousin. "When the authorities make contact, allow only Captain James Kirk and his first officer to approach me. Say that I will speak with no one else, for that is the truth. I will render any other beings useless."

"James T. Kirk," the captain reads sourly, nervously, having just searched the intergalactic web for this person and been bombarded with dozens of news articles touting the Terran's achievements. "That deceitful chit has brought _Starfleet_ upon us!" He whacks his data padd against the armrest in his ire, the screen showing an image of Jim's boyish-looking face blanking out. He tosses the broken device aside, and in response to an ill-timed cough from among his crew, twists around in his chair with the threat, "If any of you says _one word_ to a Starfleet officer, I'll throw the lot of you out the airlock myself!"

The ship gives that tell-tale beep he has been dreading for the past hour. A subcommander says, "Sir, we have an incoming message from Port Security."

The captain faces the viewscreen with a final grumble and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. "On screen."

A middle-aged, impeccably groomed human in the generic gray uniform of the station greets him with a flint-eyed stare. "This is Commander Wardyn, Head of Security. Am I speaking with the commanding officer of the Bantum?"

"That's me," he answers and smoothes down his vest. "To what do I owe the pleasure of receiving a call from Port?"

"We have reason to believe you harbor passengers of interest."

"Commander," he laughs weakly, "we're a long-haul freight operation, not a cruise ship! You have our most recent roster. Surely your intel is mistaken."

"Given that we have footage of a kidnapped Starfleet officer being forced to board your ship, I don't see how you can dispute it."

"Kidnapped!" the captain squeaks, alarmed. No one said anything about kidnapping! That's a federal crime!

He moans as if experiencing pain, recalling that the scowling, dark-haired Terran with the chit had definitely been in some standard-issue uniform. She referred to him by the title of doctor, didn't she, even after he kicked up a fuss about her method of forcing compliance from the crew? And hadn't that insignia on his tunic been Starfleet-esque?

Now that he considers the matter, if he hadn't been so terrified that he couldn't move his body, he is certain he would have caught on to these little details sooner. Then he would have beamed the pair off his ship at the first opportunity and hightailed it to the next star system. Like any entrepreneur of questionable pursuits, the last thing this captain needs is to catch the attention of a galactic authority as hard-nosed as Starfleet!

Hold on. Does this make him an accessory to kidnapping? the man wonders.

He's clearly been silent too long. Wardyn says knowingly, "I see you comprehend the seriousness of the situation, Captain. In the spirit of full disclosure, I must inform you that permission to come aboard would be appreciated but is not necessary."

In other words, this is a courtesy call and he can count on there being a pair of handcuffs waiting for him.

The captain leans forward with urgency. "Of course you have my full cooperation, Commander Wardyn! I had no idea!"

"Then lower your shields unless you wish us to disable them. A tactical team will transport over."

"Please tread with care," he hedges, "for the safety of my crew and yourselves. I did think the female passenger strange and unsettling. Yes, in fact, she said something very odd to me! I am remembering it just now," he lies. "I asked how we might transmit any incoming communications to her during transit, and she insisted she would only accept a call from a Kirk or a Spock." He widens his eyes to look innocent and concerned. "Is that helpful information, sir?"

Wardyn says nothing for a moment, glancing off-screen. Then, "The kidnapped is a senior medical officer under Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise. Kirk and his first officer, Mr. Spock, are prepared to deal with the kidnapper directly."

He slaps his chair arm, crying, "Then not a second must be wasted when a doctor's life is in danger! Send those two—Kirk and Spock—over at once! You there, lower our shields and prepare to receive personnel in the transporter bay! We'll send you the coordinates, Commander."

"Very good," Wardyn says dryly. "We'll take your cooperation into consideration."

The captain of the Bantum slumps back after the viewscreen goes dark. He can accept a fine for ferrying unregistered passengers, or even a temporary suspension of his business license. After all, if the payment due to him for his part in this drama is as significant as promised, he shall be able to afford the best lawyers in the galaxy.

"Comm our stowaways," he orders. "Inform them their Starfleet captain is on his way."

* * *

Leonard gets up, sits down, stands again, and then resumes his seat.

The bridge called and said Jim and Spock are on their way, and Leonard is about to go out of his damn mind. This waiting is driving him crazy!

How can he convince Jim to cut his losses if Ruti goes on a mental rampage? What if Spock does something stupid like trying to nerve pinch the one person who can fight on his level?

Mostly Leonard wants to apologize for dragging them into this mess in the first place. That seems the right place to start. _I'm sorry I was duped,_ he would say. He swears in the future he won't even help an old lady cross a busy street just in case her intentions might be to kidnap him after the fact.

An annoyed huff sounds from across the room, Ruti, also at the end of her patience—with him.

Leonard presses his fingers together almost convulsively. "This is your fault," he accuses. "I've never been this nerve-wracked in my entire life!"

"Do not blame me," Ruti retorts, "when the confession is yours to attend."

"What!" When she turns her back to him, he sputters. Yet before Leonard can aggressively insist she mind her own business—who's confessing what to whom anyway!—the door to their cabin slides back.

The freighter captain sticks his face in briefly from around the opening, looking like his nerves are faring no better than McCoy's. He disappears again in short order, and McCoy hears a terse "Best of luck, Captain."

The color drains from Leonard's face as he comes to his feet.

Jim and Spock walk in together, stopping just beyond the threshold. They appear as unruffled as usual in an otherwise tense scenario and thankfully uninjured from the previous confrontation. But to Leonard's horror, there isn't a weapon in sight on either of man: they are literally empty-handed—and yet, by their expressions, they are still clearly up to something.

"Jim," he starts, then checks himself. "Captain."

Ruti is the one to step forward. In the next instant, when she stiffens, Kirk's narrow-eyed gaze is drawn away from McCoy to assess her. Spock studies the room behind McCoy and, briefly, the unconscious woman on the cot in the farthest corner.

"You are mind-shielded." Ruti's words are slow with surprise. "I heard Vulcans are competent telepaths, yet was driven to consider the information as false given that you collapsed at our first encounter."

McCoy bristles at the insult on Spock's behalf, who doesn't react at all, but Ruti ignores the hiss of anger.

"And now your Mr. Spock displays a strength I would think beyond his capabilities. I cannot penetrate the shielding without significant effort, and my strength must be preserved for a more critical pursuit." She sounds almost approving. "If this is your weapon of choice, then you have clearly anticipated my reaction."

Kirk and Spock exchange a look before Kirk breaks his silence. "You can't fault us for attempting to even the playing field."

"True," she concedes. "Shall we dispense with formalities? I wish to know: is it a conversation you prefer, or a fight?"

Leonard thinks he might vibrate right out of his skin. "Nobody's fighting anybody!"

"I agree with Dr. McCoy. We are here to negotiate his return and wish to do so as civilly as possible."

"By negotiate you mean compromise, Captain Kirk. Your doctor has attempted to educate me on the concept."

"Compromise?" scoffs Kirk, barely blinking an eye. "You dare to take one of my crew against his will, force him to bend to your every whim, and _then_ add insult to injury by making light of a Starfleet officer's honor! Ridiculous!" The man puffs up with indignation, hands going to his hips.

"Calm down, Jim" is on the tip of McCoy's tongue but he decides against speaking lest it appears he is undermining his captain's authority. The doctor cannot help except wonder, though, just how upset Jim must be to forgo his normal restraint and smooth-talking. Is he purposely trying to rile Ruti up? But what good would that do?

Spock turns to Kirk as if he too thinks back-talk is an ill-advised course of action in that moment. The Vulcan ends up pressing his mouth to a thin, unhappy line instead. Leonard jerks where he stands, more deeply taken aback by Spock conjuring up an expression than Kirk being quick to offend.

What's wrong with them? Has Ruti damaged in them in some way with that attack at the bar?

Ruti hasn't shown any proclivity toward being cowed by verbal repartees so far, and now is no exception. "Your hysteria is unwarranted, Captain. Do you mean to provoke a fight after all?"

Kirk makes a noise like a teakettle boiling over, and it takes Spock grabbing him by the arm to prevent him from charging at her.

"Jim!" Leonard cries, aghast. "Stop!"

"Don't interfere, McCoy. I know what I'm doing!"

"Yes," agrees Ruti coolly, "do not interfere in this discussion, Dr. McCoy. The consequences would be rather unpleasant."

Kirk jabs a finger in Ruti's direction. "How dare you threaten him!"

Leonard's hands clench to fists. By god, why's Jim being such a pig-headed fool all of a sudden? And why's Spock acting like a wilted flower?

"I have no doubt a threat to Dr. McCoy bothers you. However, Captain, waste no more of my time with your antics," warns Ruti. "My terms for his release are easily met: I want an exchange."

Kirk stills a moment, falling silent. Then, "Me?"

Ruti looks vaguely amused. "No, the Vulcan."

Spock stiffens.

"No!" Leonard bursts out, a tremble in his voice. But he'll be damned if he stays quiet like Jim and Ruti seem to think he should! "I _told_ you Spock won't do it, Ruti!"

Kirk crosses his arms over his chest. "Why the first officer instead of me? Ah," he answers himself, "because he is a Vulcan. And that's all you require, trading him for the doctor?"

"A trade," Ruti confirms.

Leonard's heart breaks. "Jim, you can't! She's lying, she would never let me—_ah!_"

He cuts off to clutch at his head, overwhelmed by severe pain, worse than any migraine he's had, like an axe embedded in his skull. He folds at the knees, dropping down to the deck.

Kirk's face reddens. "Are you trying to kill him before I can save him?"

"He was warned."

"There will be no exchange if he's dead!"

The metaphorical axe is yanked out of McCoy's head suddenly and the pain vanishes. Afterward, he slumps forward, shaking all over, barely able to make sense of the heated conversation happening around him. The warm trickle from his nose is blood, staining his uniform sleeve as he tries to wipe it away.

He hears Ruti say, "While I find your distress at being reminded of your place rather satisfying, Captain, time is of the essence. The Vulcan for the doctor. This trade is your only option other than fighting me to the death."

When Kirk agrees, Leonard's eyes sting.

"Spock," he tries, pushing himself to an upright position on the floor. "Spock, please, you can't—you could _die_. Don't agree to it. Not for me."

"Mr. Spock follows his captain's orders," Kirk says as he comes forward to help McCoy to his feet with gentle hands. He doesn't meet Leonard's eyes. "It's for the best, McCoy," he adds and blots rather awkwardly at the doctor's bloody nose with a pocket-handkerchief.

The moment Leonard reaches to embrace Jim, thinking if he can just hold on hard enough to his friend, he can turn the tide of this disastrous confrontation, Kirk automatically steps back. Spock, having remained at some distance, is oddly impartial to their exchange.

Leonard feels like he's stuck in a bad dream. He doesn't know who these men are. Why would Jim agree a trade? What sense is there in that? What _good_ does sacrificing one person's freedom for another's possibly do for the three of them? Truly, whatever leverage Jim thinks he will gain from it is a mystery to McCoy. And it is evident to him that Jim has not considered what Ruti will require Spock to do. Otherwise, surely Kirk would object on _that_ principle alone.

Whatever the motive here, Leonard knows with certainty that if Spock dies from the brutality of Ruti's methods or from the breaking of his integrity, forgiving Jim will be an impossibility.

"I don't agree to this," he has to say one more time, "and, Captain, it will be noted in my report."

Kirk hesitates over his serious tone a moment before addressing Ruti. "I have a condition of my own."

Ruti inclines her head. "Tell me."

"I never leave a man behind. I choose to remain here with my first officer."

This bad dream has truly turned into Leonard McCoy's worst nightmare. With wordless horror, he throws himself at Jim and Spock not knowing what he can do but determined to do something. He trips on air before he can touch either man, and his body jerks upright of its own accord, every muscle freezing in place. He finds his voice is locked too.

Ruti seems disappointed in his continued desire to save his friends and resist her will. But it is to Kirk that she states, "I believe you mean it, Captain. Your thoughts may be hidden from me at this moment, but I already recognized in you what motivates you so desperately. How could I not know, when your love for one is only rivaled by your love for the other—and you are prepared to give up everything for both. Yes, I understand very well that love makes one reckless. I accept your condition."

Kirk's eyes widen comically, as though he is shocked by her revelation of _his_ feelings for his officers. But he sobers quickly enough when Spock murmurs, "Captain."

"Ah, right." Kirk clears his throat. "Send McCoy away now. Mr. Spock and I are yours."

McCoy, weeping beneath his immovable countenance, retrieves Ruti's partner from the corner cot like a puppet moved by strings. There is a strange quality to being aware of the manipulation of his body this time; he thinks he might actually prefer being lost to oblivion while under someone else's control. The act makes him feel more helpless than ever.

Ruti comes forward to trail her fingers delicately along his patient's face, and she tells McCoy, "Care for her well." To his mind, she promises, _We will meet again._

Leonard walks out of the cabin, the love of his captor's life held safely in his arms while the distance to the ones who hold his heart grows farther with each echoing step.

* * *

"Have we made a mistake?" whispers Kirk to Spock in McCoy's absence.

"Too many count," Spock replies in a deeply aggravated tone.

Ruti beckons the pair into the corridor, choosing the direction opposite of the one from the others. They trail behind her with a growing sense of foreboding.

* * *

Prime Zanceas walks onto the bridge of an outdated ship called the Bantum and grimaces as though encountering a repugnant odor.

"Where is your captain?" he demands, glancing across a deck of empty control stations. He rounds on his guide. "You dare to trick me!"

"I don't k-know. Where is everyone?"

A flick of his power forces the image of the Scavengers' last victim into the man's mind, turning him into a pathetic puddle of screams and weeping. For a moment, Zan watches the fool claw at his own head desperately before moving to exit the bridge.

After a few steps, his gait falters as he changes his mind. There is little need to search this ship for his quarry on his own. The nearby pack is already straining the leash to corner the prey. What does he have to fear? No one else except him could possibly control them.

_Cousin Rutiana!_ he calls imperiously to the mind most similar to his own, some decks below. _Your Prime awaits your greeting._

A second passes, and another, before her answer comes. _An exile is not worthy of greeting the Prime._

Zan can picture the haughtiness of her expression had she spoken to his face, and the very image makes him grind his teeth in anger. "Then come greet Death instead, little cousin!"

Buoyed by the anger, his power roils around the bridge, sending out dagger-like tendrils that attack the wide-open mind of the shaking guide, setting the little man to screaming again.

Zan knocks him out with a blast of thought some seconds later simply to relieve his ears of the man's noisy racket.

The bridge is utterly still except for his power skirting the stations, the floor, reaching outward to the connecting corridor. He reluctantly draws it in and dampens it so that he might touch the other minds on the ship and briefly assessing their uses. Zan's mirthless laugh comes afterward, on the heels of the realization that Ruti has made more enemies. Some minds truly are terrified of her; others think her morality quite unsalvagable.

And neither type is wrong to feel so, in Zan's opinion.

His cousin had said to him once, "My life has not been a happy one, any more than yours," and then she cruelly made his life many times more unbearable by stealing the affection of those he wanted to trust. And she claimed often to wonder why he hated her so! That dalliance with his wife was the breaking point of their familiarity.

Zan won't leave this ship until she suffers as he has.

He takes the knowledge from the unconscious guide of how to operate the ship's transporting function and finds the controls to activate them remotely from the bridge. Then he calls to his Scavengers with the silky promise, _It is time to feed_, fetches them aboard and unleashes them on the ship.

* * *

As per Kirk's plan, Wardyn waits until the signal that the freighter captain has left Kirk and Spock inside the kidnapper's quarters before his team commandeers the Bantum. They disable the shields, round the crew up on the bridge, stunning the handful whose first instinct is to try and run away. Wardyn would have expected more protesting, possibly a healthy amount of resistance, but the unnerving sense of relief from the crew when they are beamed portside speaks too much on the danger left aboard the Bantum. Most crewmen go without complaint into the security vans. Some of them offer to make official statements.

Wardyn returns to the ship with two of Kirk's security officers and one of his own to locate the erstwhile captain of the Bantum, who seems to be loitering somewhere instead of returning to his bridge. They find him in his quarters (an opulent cabin compared to the rest of the ship) shoving valuables into a large pack.

He seems surprised at their appearance. "Ah, it's the port commander," the man blusters, shoving his pack behind his bed and coming forward to cling to one of the red-shirted officers. "Sir, you were right, my ship has been overrun by criminals! Your help is direly needed!"

Wardyn snorts and orders, "Arrest him."

Suffice to say, the captain is even more shocked by this turn of events, and Wardyn is rather pleased about it.

"Arrest me! Have you gone mad? What is the mean of this!" he cries as he is being surrounded on all sides.

Wardyn detaches a communicator from his belt and activates it. "Wardyn to Kirk."

"Kirk here."

"We've collected the captain and crew of the Bantum." He pauses. "Our scanners picked up strange life-readings on the starboard side of the ship during the transport. Do you want us to investigate?"

"Spock's tricorder picked up the same readings. He and I are proceeding ahead anyway, so we'll take care of it, Commander. See your team safely back to port. Consider that an order!"

Wardyn would remind Kirk he doesn't have to take his orders but it's probably not worth the trouble of starting an argument with the man. Kirk is too stubborn for his own good sometimes.

"Understood. Wardyn out."

He turns to the others, ignoring the angry shouts about rights violations and lawyers. "Take that idiot directly to the brig."

"But my property!" yells the captain even as he begins to dissolve in a transporter beam. "My profit! I WAS GOING TO BE A RICH MAN!"

* * *

"So, I have you at last."

Zanceas crosses the open bay area, his quarry turning around at the sound of his voice. Her expression is impassive, but there is an unmistakable albeit deeply buried undercurrent of fear running through her thoughts. Zanceas excels at sensing weak spots in his enemies.

He takes a few seconds to eye the two beings behind her, apparently attempting to push a sealed body-length capsule off a hovercart into the back of a shuttlecraft.

He laughs nastily. "Running away again so soon? But we haven't had time to catch up, dear cousin. You must agree that we are long overdue for a chat."

One man puts a hand to his back, clearly winded, and complains, "Manual labor is not what I signed up for."

The Prime takes another closer look at the two others and sneers upon recognition of the one who spoke. It's the ugly humanoid from the billboards! Well the man looks even more unsightly now with his tunic wet from perspiration and tufts of hair flopping over his eyes.

"What is this!" Zan snaps at Ruti. "You've hired a _celebrity_ as your protection?"

The second man drops his end of the capsule with a yelp and a crash, leaping backward just in time to avoid crushing his own foot. At the sight, Ruti looks dismayed at her laborers' obvious ineptitude.

To hire such a hapless pair! Even their minds are so minuscule as to be practically nonexistent. The Prime's disgust turns to suspicion, then.

He glides closer to them. "What are they moving, cousin? Is my wife hiding in that contraption?" He scoffs. "And of course you let those idiots drop her! Better to have that stupid giant do the menial work, at least he has the physical strength!"

"I do not command them," Ruti says, watching him again. "Yet."

Zan feels her push against something he had failed to recognize until now: strong mind-shields around the groaning Federation captain and his scowling pointy-eared companion. What power could be at her disposal behind those shields?

In his blinding rage, he has forgotten the quiet planning she is capable of, machiavellian schemes that almost always prove advantageous for her pursuits.

Zanceas knows he has to strike first before she retrieves any power or skills that can be turned against him—

—and finds himself taken back when her final mental strike against those shields results in the two men collapsing to the floor.

Ruti stares, as startled as Zan, and backs up in consternation when the captain weakly flops an arm like a fish thrown to land before going utterly still.

Zan cries out with a hard spiteful laugh, "Oh, too good! What a farce, this Federation!" He stabs a finger at the unconscious pair. "See how _useless_ their most beloved citizen is. What was his name again? Kirk!"

But Ruti disagrees. "You are mistaken, Prime. That is not Captain Kirk." Her tone is bemused. "Or his Vulcan, Spock."

On cue, Kirk and Spock's bodies begin to flicker and dissolve, leaving behind into entirely different images: one rotund, balding man sprawled out like a starfish; the other not even Terran, gangly, his antennae twitching periodically in unconsciousness.

"Who are _they?_" demands Zan.

"Imposters, obviously." The corners of Ruti's mouth turn up faintly. "Captain Kirk proves to be not so useless after all."

* * *

Ruti's control over McCoy disappears so suddenly, he almost drops the person in his arms. When he manages to ease his patient safely to the floor with only a bit of a wobble, he apologizes to her. Then he buries his head in his hands and indulges in a moment of abject despair.

He can't leave her, and yet he can't stay. He has to go back for Jim and Spock. They would do no less for him, no matter what foolish thoughts have driven them to take his place as Ruti's captives.

He's made up his mind to leave her somewhere relatively out of the way. Then he will have to find a comm station and call to the Enterprise to relay her location. Kirk definitely would have placed the crew on stand-by before he came aboard.

A sense of urgency returning to him, Leonard starts to gather the woman into his arms again. Then a voice echoes from the adjoining corridor, rendering him immovable. The person says, irked, "I can't believe he managed to give us the slip."

"I did suspect Mr. Chee is more cunning than he allows others to believe."

"You could have shared that suspicion!"

The voices are of such familiar timbres and the last complaint is so perfectly in-character that Leonard had automatically guessed its exact wording, at long last the doctor is certain he has lost his mind.

But McCoy's instincts hold true, for it is none other than Jim Kirk who turns the bend of the corridor, followed closely by his famous Vulcan shadow, Mr. Spock. Kirk looks like a man on a mission, phaser held high, eyes quickly assessing the surroundings to ascertain any danger, making the red security tunic he has on quite appropriate. But to see Spock in Security red is like a splash of cold water to the face for McCoy—that, and the dawning realization Kirk and Spock are nowhere near the last place that McCoy saw them.

He's already half-risen to his feet when Jim makes eye contact with him.

He cries, "Jim! Spock!" at the same time Jim calls, "Bones!"

This time when Leonard throws himself at them there is no one else to intervene. The three men spend nearly a full minute clutching at each other (and ha! McCoy won't let Spock deny the hugging later on, a Vulcan's dignity be damned), at the tail-end of which McCoy falls to fussing at Jim and Spock while furiously blinking back tears.

"You're both morons!" he rails. "Why'd you do that? How did you manage to get away?" He pauses, then says accusingly, "And you changed clothes. What kind of trick did you pull this time?"

Jim hooks an arm around Leonard's neck to keep him close. "Ah, Bones. You must be okay if you can yell at us."

"Indeed. Given his rampant emotionalism, one naturally assumes the Doctor is feeling very much like himself."

Leonard almost pops Spock on the arm, settling for a glare. "I think wearing red has affected your logic, Spock. I don't like it!"

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Which implies your preference is that I am logical. Why, thank you, Dr. McCoy."

Leonard sputters, "That's not what I meant, you damn Vulcan!"

Jim pats his back. "All right, you two. Bones, you said something about seeing us before. Where?"

Leonard's irritation turns to confusion and then, inevitably, understanding. "You don't know? Then…" His eyes widen. "That wasn't you!"

Jim's blue eyes gleam with satisfaction. "A good old-fashioned bait-and-switch," he confirms.

Leonard stares at him a moment before bursting out laughing. Kirk keeps him from staggering too much. He sounds giddy, likely from a combination of exhaustion and relief. But what does any of that matter when the happiness at seeing his friends again is so overwhelming?

"That makes a lot of sense, actually," he says when he can talk again. "You didn't act like yourselves. I was wondering if you'd both lost your mind." He sobers, then, reaching out to touch Jim's cheek. "What Ruti did to you earlier… Are you hurt, Jim?" He turns to Spock and looks Spock over in concern. "Spock?"

"We are well," Spock replies with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"I had this horrible feeling that—" He stops there, swallowing hard. Now isn't the time to burden them with his guilt.

As if sensing Leonard needs a minute, Jim half-turns to Spock to say, tone proud, "It was Spock who ensured Ruti couldn't tell the stand-ins were not us."

Spock offers to this praise, "It was Jim's idea to use the new prototype of holographic technology to grant the impersonators our physical likeness."

McCoy ponders that, and soon a funny feeling starts in the pit of his stomach. "But that sounds like the stuff Jim used when—" He inhales sharply at the memory of that particular adventure. "_Jim!_"

McCoy's idiotic captain winks. "Our spy toys are the best, Bones, courtesy of being the flagship."

"That damn tech _barely_ worked the last time! It was given to us for beta-testing only!"

Jim's mouth pulls into a slight pout. "But I tweaked it."

Leonard rounds on Spock. "I bet you didn't even blink when he made his crazy suggestion."

Spock pointedly blinks at him now, the bastard—and has the audacity to say, "The matter is irrelevant as it clearly worked."

Spock is an idiot too, because Leonard isn't going to let the topic slide by a long shot, oh no he isn't! They can certainly receive an earful once he is in better condition and able to express his displeasure at the appropriate decibel.

Thinking of yelling at them makes him feel good.

"He's smiling, Spock," Jim stage-whispers. "I think we're in serious trouble."

Trouble has arrived, but not in the form any of the three men expect. It starts as a low growl from behind them and builds to a warning of "Don't move."

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy turn around as a unit.

"Oh hell," says Leonard succinctly, "what is _he_ doing here?"

Kirk narrows his eyes at the interloper. "Mr. Chee."

Chee aims a Starfleet-issued phaser at Kirk. "The Lady, give her to me."

McCoy flicks his gaze to his patient where he had placed her by the wall before launching himself at his friends. They stand between her and Chee.

A small part of the doctor wants to say "be our guest" but that is in direct opposition to his oath, not to mention his personal nature, and so he cannot good conscience let Chee cart off the woman to sicken again. Her dying on his watch would be an utterly unacceptable outcome. He knows the Enterprise's medical bay is her best chance, and that's where she needs to go rather than back into the hands of Chee or Ruti.

Jim glances at him, and by his look knows Leonard's thoughts. He doesn't seem angry as he turns back to Chee. Then he smiles lightly, says to the alien, "Too bad you can't tell a fake phaser from a real one," and charges at Chee.

Spock pushes McCoy toward his patient before rushing after Jim, and Leonard nearly has a heart-attack when Chee fires at Kirk and Spock. But Jim guessed right: the phaser is a dud, and when Chee realizes this he tosses the fake weapon aside to dodge Kirk's fist and ram the human into the nearest wall with horrifying strength. Spock pulls Jim back to his feet, Chee snarls at them with battle-fire in his gaze, and then the fight begins in earnest.

* * *

**Whew! Final confrontations, more Triumvirate reunion, and McSpirk goodness in the final chapter on June 28th!**


	10. Part Ten

Leonard shakes out his throbbing knuckles and remarks, "Huh, I didn't think that would work."

With his hands braced against his knees, an out-of-breath Jim peers up at the doctor admiringly. "Your right cross is no joke, Bones. Thanks."

Leonard flashes a grin in response.

The moment Chee had spun within arm's reach of McCoy, having jumped away from a resolute-looking Spock to avoid being nerve pinched for flipping Kirk for a third time over his shoulder (the sight and sound of which had Leonard as equally furious as Spock and flinching from Jim's repeated impacts with the floor), McCoy had taken the opening without hesitation. As was typical of course, Kirk had already staggered back to his feet to endure another beat-down despite his energy clearly flagging and Leonard knew the only way to stop Jim was to lay Chee out first.

So he did, and he's mighty proud of having done it too.

Naturally, it would be Spock who spoils the moment, catching their attention by holding up a hypospray. "I believe Mr. Chee's sudden unconsciousness can be attributed to this."

Jim sharply sucks in a breath. "Spock, if you had that, why didn't you use it sooner?" The demand dies to a grumble as his fingers prod at a bruise blooming across his cheekbone.

Leonard is appalled for a different reason. "Damn it, man, what the hell did you do!"

"Merely made use of a sedative," replies the Vulcan, which falls on deaf ears as Leonard shoves Chee onto his back and checks the unconscious alien for a pulse, "which should remain in effect while he is placed into custody again."

Leonard fixes Spock with an unamused stare. "Next time leave the sedating to a certified medical professional. I don't even want to know where you got that hypo."

"Dr. M'B—"

Spock is unceremoniously cut off by Leonard's higher-pitched "_I said don't tell me!_"

The Vulcan closes his mouth and carefully turns his gaze from the doctor like a duly chastened child, at which point Leonard drags a hand down his face, immediately regretful, and apologizes for yelling. Mollified, Spock accepts the apology and summarily assists Leonard from his crouch on the floor. The doctor pockets the hypospray with a dour expression.

Sporting a wide smile, Jim comes forward to pat McCoy's shoulder, and a short pause ensues wherein the three of them once again enjoy being reunited.

Then a deep snore from Chee breaks up the moment, Leonard sighs and asks, "What do we do about him—" adding with a glance to the second unconscious person in the corridor, "—and her?"

Kirk's response is to flip open a communicator and call the Enterprise.

"Scott here. Capt'n, Dr. McCoy…?"

"We have him."

Leonard doesn't know quite what to think of the cheering coming through the open channel, loud enough to create static.

With a fond look at the doctor in question, Jim agrees, "My sentiments exactly. Three to beam up."

Leonard frowns. "You're sending Spock back?"

Spock clarifies, "You are the one who shall return to the Enterprise, Doctor. The Captain and I must stay to ascertain the whereabouts of the hostiles."

"Are you mad!" One of Leonard's hands shoots out to grip Jim's uniform sleeve. "Jim!"

Jim dislodges his hand calmly. "Have Mr. Chekov lock onto McCoy and two alien life-forms at these coordinates. Medical and Security should be on stand-by."

"Aye, sir. Uhura, comm Lt. Chekov in Transporter Room Three and Dr. M'Benga in Sickbay with Captain Kirk's orders."

Leonard argues, "I'm not going anywhere if you aren't!" When Jim denies him with a simple "No, Bones," he nearly explodes with temper. So be it! If Jim won't listen…!

"Scotty," the doctor snarls over Kirk's shoulder into the communicator, "if you and Chekov don't want to find out what a case of Andorian shingles feels like, you'll listen to _my_ order as Chief Medical Officer!"

Spock intones, "Dr. McCoy, it is inappropriate to menace your colleagues with threats of disease," and promptly places himself between McCoy and Kirk.

Leonard is about to tell Spock he can concoct an unpleasant medical condition for a Vulcan too when an idea occurs to him. His hands snap out and latch firmly onto Spock's arms.

Spock's eyebrows fly upward.

Leonard tugs the Vulcan right up against him and loops one arm around the Vulcan's back that would normally be the preceding step to a hug or a more intimate kind of contact.

A strangled noise comes from Jim, whose eyes have popped wide.

Leonard feels very satisfied when Chekov comes across the line a moment later, stating with obvious befuddlement, "Keptin, I have ze Doctor's signature but can't separate him from Mr. Spock to lock on properly."

Leonard hums, pleased, and then drawls a challenge to Jim, "You better rethink those orders, Captain. I'll stick to this Vulcan like white on rice for however long it takes."

"_Keptin?_" Chekov sounds scandalized because he's too smart not to put two and two together and come up with a mental image of Doctor McCoy in the First Officer's arms.

Jim continues making funny noises. "Bones…" Then, unhappy about the turn of events but no doubt recognizing defeat in the face of good ole Southern stubbornness, Jim finally relays, "Change of orders, Mr. Chekov. Beam up the other life-forms. McCoy will stay with me and Spock. Is Dr. M'Benga there?"

"Acknowledged, Keptin. Dr. M'Benga just arrived with several nurses and orderlies."

"Very good. Have him look over his new patients but maintain a security escort. Kirk out."

The two beings shimmer away from sight, and a long-held tension finally leaves McCoy. It's only after he has relaxed into Spock for some seconds that he remembers their predicament and jerks back to look Spock in the eyes, horrified by his own actions.

Yet at having a human practically draped over him, the Vulcan is remarkably complacent, standing straight-backed with his usual perfect posture, one arm tucked behind his back since Leonard is tightly clutching the other one. He's so quietly calm it's almost as though he wishes not to be the one to disturb their closeness.

Leonard doesn't understand. Where is Spock's indignation at this flippant breach of personal space? His outrage at being forced into physical contact?

Spock meets McCoy's shocked gaze steadily, claiming then, "I have no issue with your touch. If you are comfortable, I am comfortable."

Leonard chokes. Spock is giving him permission to keep holding on.

That thought has time to fully sink in, and Leonard stumbles back from the Vulcan as if burned, color rising quickly in his face. "You-You—!" he sputters.

How can a Vulcan be so shameless! Leonard isn't his boyfriend!

Jim chokes on a laugh, and Leonard's face flames hotter as he realizes his brain-to-mouth filter somehow let that last part be said aloud. There's nowhere to look now that doesn't bring Leonard face-to-face with the shambles of his dignity.

Spock is finally able to lock both hands behind his back and does so. "An oversight," he remarks mysteriously.

"With corrective action coming relatively soon," adds Kirk to no one in particular as he bends down to fetch the fake phaser from the floor.

Silliness, all of it, though admittedly Leonard started it. He refuses to process such nonsense, feeling simply that it's neither the time nor place to deal with such things. Besides, discussions of nonsense never end well for Leonard anyway.

He sighs. What he wouldn't give for the sweet monotony of his Sickbay duties right now, where everything is known and appreciated because it is known. Just look at the kind of trouble pushing for shore leave has brought! A smart man stays aboard the ship for his vacation. Next time McCoy will choose to catch up on some professional journals like the Chief Engineer instead of frolicking around with a Vulcan and a captain in tow.

Although having Spock for company this time hadn't been so bad…

Leonard squashes that thought with a harrumph, and oddly enough the Vulcan sends him a look that on a human might be called fond.

"Ruti," Leonard says with mild desperation, hoping for a change of subject to a topic he can handle. "Don't tell me we're fighting Ruti when we find her."

Jim straightens, his smile dimming to a thin line. "Her enemies, Bones—what do you can tell us about them?"

"You mean her cousin? He's… here," Leonard's mouth says on its own, dread rousing within him. "On this ship."

How had he forgotten the uneasiness which has accompanied him for almost a full day, that prickling certainty of a great and terrible threat looming closeby?

Well, it's back now. That forcibly augmented extra sense in his brain fires up and blares out a warning like an emergency siren suddenly set off. It sends his normal senses reeling.

Whatever shows in McCoy's face just then must be disturbing. Kirk calls his name with sharp concern. Spock reaches for him.

Emotions nearly overwhelm him. The roiling fear, anxiety, and timidity—those belong to Leonard; but the hatred and disgust and determination to kill are not his.

And the bloodthirsty hunger is entirely alien, of no source he can discern. He cringes away from it.

The scene is there in his mind: inside one of the ship's cargo bays, Ruti facing her cousin Zanceas, a being so alike in appearance to her they are undeniably kin. But his features are twisted with rage where she is unmoved by temper. Their mutual animosity is blade-sharp, resounding like a bell in his head. He just wants it to stop, tells it to stop—

—and in doing so, reminds Ruti of his existence.

With horror, he feels her recognize his presence, can almost see her mind flex toward his, all claws and teeth in her desperation. Leonard is the only tool available to her now and she feels she must win this fight, even if that means destroying both of them in the process. Zanceas is destroyed or she and McCoy are, with no alternative.

What happens next is a blur to Leonard. Vaguely, he thinks he cries out; his own body betrays him, moving step by step away from Jim and Spock in the direction of the cargo bay while his mind—his spirit—is unwillingly dragged into a current of power.

Leonard floats with the current as it pulls and pulls; he swiftly goes along, without effort, with a lessening connection to where he exists physically. He sits helpless while the current starts to churn restlessly, then tumultuously, as it draws nearer to two monoliths rising out of the void. One is whole and terrifying; the other terrifying in a different way because it is cracked down the middle and seems unsteady. He is dimly conscious of how they suck in the power greedily, and more intensely conscious of the anticipation of a great clash and a certainty he—small and weak by comparison—will shatter into fragments upon collision.

But the horror is transient for Leonard where it should be flourishing. He is folded into another presence like a warm embrace. The familiarity of it soothes him, and he believes in its promise of there being nothing to fear. Leonard is not alone with the danger, and it is only the danger who is not yet aware of this fact. Foolish enough to take Leonard, the danger shall not succeed in keeping him, using him, or harming him.

The knowledge is a balm to Leonard's soul.

* * *

"Spock, catch him!" Jim cries as McCoy forces his way past them with an unseeing stare.

Kirk had taken one look at the doctor's terrifyingly empty expression and clearly surmised who has taken McCoy from them. Spock had foreseen this possibility the moment he felt Ruti break the shielding over Officer Huido and Mr. Murtee's minds and miscalculated how much time he would have to initiate a defense against her, including the time it would take to convince Leonard it would be the only course of action open to them.

Now, as he steps to physically block the doctor's path and arrange his hand along Leonard's face while Jim pins Leonard from behind, Spock regrets he must proceed without explaining the risk and potential effects and obtaining consent; most of all, he regrets not knowing if Leonard understands Spock could never harm him through a mind-meld no matter the circumstances.

Yet when he catches up to McCoy's self speeding along that pathway towards Ruti and another powerful but less controlled being, Spock barely makes himself known before McCoy accepts his comfort like a flower craving the sunlight.

Spock feels a billow of emotion—pleasure at the instant acceptance—admires it briefly and then shares it. Leonard chooses to sink into him more securely, then, just as the man had leaned into Spock's body in the corridor not so long ago. This unknowingly solidifies the link between their minds. Spock is most grateful.

Spock momentarily diverts his attention to call out to Jim, lifting his free hand and asking, "May I?" A moment later, Kirk's mind is also carefully connected to his, with Jim offering the same acceptance of his presence as McCoy had. Spock is flattered all over again.

Beyond the two connections he buoys with his own strength, there is a flicker of alarm, of dismayed recognition. Spock doesn't allow Ruti time to decide what to do about him and yanks McCoy from the current of power, letting the spark of his own temper burn off the few tendrils of her control which try to stubbornly cling to the doctor's mind.

Then he wraps up the three of them in a cocoon of shielding as comforting as a soft blanket but tough enough to withstand an attack by Ruti or her cousin. Spock gives the cocoon a final shake to discard the insecurities and apprehension and little doubts from Kirk and McCoy, and this act brings Leonard out of the fog of control to his own awareness.

As Leonard gives the mental equivalent to a startled meep of _Where am I?_, Spock takes a moment to savor the resonance of energies between himself and his chosen partners. Here is a sense of completeness that he instinctively knows could be so much more than a joining of similar minds. It is wonderful in a way Spock is not adept at describing.

The temptation is great to offer more than protection but the circumstances are not proper by Vulcan dictates. Yet Spock must wonder what is so improper about this sudden yearning to let Kirk and McCoy know him as he truly is and to learn them fully in turn.

_Spock, is that you?_

Ah, Leonard recognizes him. And of course, Jim always has.

Spock had thought his love a quiet flame and realizes now it burns strong and joyfully under their attention. Some day he will explain this to them.

_I am Spock,_ he answers. _Doctor, Captain. Our thoughts are one._

_Duly noted_, comes from Jim, who until then has been holding his mind utterly still so as not to disturb McCoy's slow acclimation to their new situation. But as with all brilliant minds like Kirk's, being still for too long only serves to heighten his curiosity and inspire a child-like desire to be set free to explore his surroundings.

On the other hand, fresh from being rescued, Leonard naturally decides Spock defaulting to a three-way mind-meld to protect him is overkill.

Jim's flick of thought says he appreciates how Leonard is stubborn in the best of ways but honestly, thank the man instead of berating him!

Spock won't get any thanks from Leonard for putting himself in danger! What's Jim doing here anyway? Meddling?

Spock finds the humans' byplay amusing. Leonard stops fighting with Jim with an irritable little mental harrumph, and Jim settles on thinking how happy he is that they are together.

When Spock mirrors Jim's happiness, Leonard awkwardly pulls back from the unabashed feelings only to realize there is nowhere to hide with their thoughts laid so bare. He demands, _What's the point of all this?_

_To protect ourselves, Bones_, Jim answers immediately. _To end this fight for good._

_I don't understand_, Leonard says.

_Faith, Doctor, is all we require._

An easy request for someone of McCoy's nature to fulfill, Spock knows. McCoy has always had faith in abundance; otherwise, he would have never followed Jim to the stars, would not be the man who stands by his Hippocratic oath at all costs, could not be filled with such endless compassion and could not so readily understand why Spock's honor is tied so intrinsically to his loyalty to his captain.

Leonard thinks something interesting concerning Spock and sweet-talking before, as predicted, mustering a truly admirable amount of faith.

Physical body or no physical body, Jim buzzes with adrenaline. _Are we ready, Spock?_

The forging of relationships require trust, and trust requires truthfulness. Spock has always prided himself on being strictly honest even during the times that necessitate a modicum of deception. He can do nothing less than offer the truth now, regardless of the outcome.

_I know of no alternative, Jim. Our greatest strength is our unity. We must attempt to negate Ruti's power together._

Leonard protests, _You could cut me loose, let me be a distraction. Jim, you and Spock fit together. You always have. Surely like this, you two would be enough to—_

But Jim, like Spock, is having none of that type of argument. Not anymore. _Out of the question. It's all three of us or none of us._

Leonard fires back, _And who do you think we are to match the likes of them? Gods?_

_Be us gods or men, Bones, our best chance is with you._

Leonard wavers between being surprised and charmed.

Affection for Kirk and McCoy bolsters Spock's confidence. _Gentlemen, we are more than capable._

In fact, he has calculated the likelihood of them being invincible. The odds are gratifyingly favorable.

Disbelief meets his surety, followed by a wave of awe from Jim.

_Bones, I think Spock's ego might be bigger than mine_.

It's Leonard who outright despairs for his sanity. _What in blazes was that! Vulcans are supposed to be logical!_

_Just imagine_, Jim chuckles, _if we finally have proof to the contrary._

_It'll shock the galaxy, Jim._

Jim and Leonard are jesting to allow themselves time to acclimate to a tamer version of his belief in their combined power, Spock knows, and not trying to insult his nature.

Jim arrives there first. _So, we can take them. Tell me what you need, Spock._

_I'm not going to like the answer,_ Leonard decides preemptively, _but you have me too for whatever you need. We ought to teach Ruti and her no-good cousin why it's rude to muck about in other people's heads._

_A commendable sentiment,_ Spock approves.

Leonard's mental sigh is indulgent, almost playful. _In the meantime, could I have my body back?_

_Certainly,_ Spock says. _Our connection is securely established. Prolonging physical contact is not required._

He withdraws his hands from McCoy and Kirk's faces respectively with no lessening of the mind links, which pulse warm and strong, and the three of them open their eyes at the same time.

Leonard clears his throat. "Well, that was interesting."

"Fascinating is the word, Doctor."

Jim offers them a tiny smile. "I would say pleasant."

McCoy flushes. When he has his reaction under control again, he says, sobering, "They're in the cargo bay."

Jim nods once and turns in the direction McCoy had been going. Spock and McCoy follow him.

* * *

Zan tsks his disappointment at his cousin. "What were you attempting to accomplish just now, Rutiana? And with so feeble a mind?"

"There is trouble headed this way, Prime."

He sneers. "Who could possibly interfere?"

"There is no time to relate the story to you," she replies, "not that you would have the patience for it."

"You are always making enemies, little cousin." He admits he does feel the ripple of a three-pronged storm moving along the ship. Under normal circumstances it might make him cautious but what does he have to fear? He has nothing to do with the trouble Ruti has stirred up in this place. He says coldly, "Perhaps your enemies would like to watch my pack feasting on your body." He delves inward to the bond with his Scavengers, sensing them strain against the leash of his power. "You feel their hunger, don't you? They want to greet you so badly. Shall I let them?"

"You could try," she says too softly, backing up another step to place her hand against the outer hull of the shuttlecraft. "But it should surprise me little if their wildness proves too much even for you, Prime."

"Their obedience is to me, only me!" he snaps, barely preventing himself from launching forward to lay hands on her, an act of physical violence which should be beneath him but with his tenuous control seems like the only way to truly slake his anger. He settles for releasing a yell of frustration.

Ruti gives him a pitying look. "You should not have left the homeworld, Zan. You are coming undone."

Her words nearly shatter his control. "Whose fault is that!" And finally he attacks, throwing a vicious punch of power directly at the outermost barrier around her mind.

She stiffens but does not deflect the blow. "Try again," she challenges him afterward, letting him have a taste of her emotions and thoughts.

But how can this be? She is surprised by him, this woman who once bowed to him in fealty after the Clan made him Prime instead of her. She believes him strange to have not torn through her first barrier. Speculates he has become so embittered he cannot command his power with the finesse he once had. His rage must have eaten away his prowess, blackened his talents, _weakened his own mind_.

"NO!" he roars in denial, and power blasts out of him in a shockwave which she rides easily. He is left panting and, in his panic, tries to wrench the unconscious bodies at her feet to awareness and to their feet, to use them like puppets against her.

They do not stir.

He had imagined her destruction would come at a flick of his thoughts and somehow the opposite is true: her brazenness has made her stronger than him, and his anger has hobbled him.

But not completely. No, there's still the hunger, gnawing at him, wanting, always wanting.

He starts to laugh, heedless of the way it makes him look crazed, and calls in the Scavengers.

* * *

"What was _that?_" Jim wants to know, pulling Leonard upright against him. He directs the question to Spock, who appears to have been unaffected by the blast of energy that threw back the doors to the Bantum's cargo bay and left Kirk and McCoy staggering back a few steps.

Leonard is thinking they are lucky not to have been within range of being literally knocked off their feet. Jim agrees.

"A surge," Spock remarks, almost offhand. "Not like before."

Leonard stiffens against Jim's side. "Ruti calls it an unleashing." He widens his eyes at the Vulcan. "Spock!"

Spock looks their way. "I am well, Doctor."

"Last time you weren't!"

"I was not prepared before."

_Anchored_, Leonard's mind supplies, his eyes widening further.

Jim doesn't quite know what to make of that, but if it means Spock is able to withstand any tricks thrown their way, he won't worry about it.

Spock is amused again, and that's another thing Jim needs to come to terms with, it seems. Apparently Leonard and Jim are at times entertaining, at other times adorable, and most frequently enchanting with their strange leaps in thinking, all of which the Vulcan responds to with an abundance of fondness and a decisive 'these humans amuse me and I am okay with it' attitude. He would not have expected to find such a carefree nature within Spock.

"We're going to have to do something about it," Leonard mutters for Jim's ears only. "And he says my emotions are out of control!"

Spock's amusement grows. Once again McCoy has forgotten that about superior Vulcan hearing.

Jim sighs while Leonard glares at the back of their pointy-eared companion's head, the doctor thinking about how he regrets not asking if there would be an off-switch to their mind link. In response, Jim rubs a hand soothingly along McCoy's back.

Spock turns from inspecting the ruins of the cargo bay entrance with his tricorder. "Captain, I have picked up the same unusual life-signs from earlier. They are ahead of us."

"Speculation, Mr. Spock?"

"Not enough data to speculate."

McCoy steps up to Spock's side to read the tricorder output. "Hm, from these readings, I'd guess they aren't humanoid. No highly developed brain waves." His head snaps around so he can stare at Kirk. "Jim!"

Jim feels a chill down his spine. "What is it?"

Leonard shudders as if Jim's chill reaches him too. "Ruti said her cousin had things called Scavengers searching for her. Sounded like a pack of wild dogs."

"Bones, someone would have reported animals running wild around the spaceport."

"Assuming one can see them, Captain," Spock points out, then pauses to add, "or is allowed to see them."

Jim opens his mouth a moment before saying weakly, "That would certainly be an efficient way to hunt."

"Indeed."

Leonard shudders again. "I don't relish the idea of being attacked by something I can't see."

"The creatures are not invisible to our scanner, Doctor."

"Uh-huh," McCoy says dryly, "and in the time it takes you to call out their positions like a sportscaster, they'll be snacking on somebody. Jim, I hope you have more than that fake phaser on you."

Both Jim and Spock pull out phasers. Leonard is momentarily nonplussed they don't have one for him. With a smirk, Jim hands him the fake one. The doctor rolls his eyes heavenward.

"Just stay behind us, Bones."

"Oh, can it, Jim. Find somebody else to play your damsel in distress. I still have my right cross."

Jim doesn't bother to control a swell of tenderness for the man, and Leonard looks like he wishes he hadn't said anything. Too bad, thinks Jim, because there is no stopping their feelings now or in the future.

A scream splits the air, coming from inside the cargo bay. Jim reacts on instinct by running toward it, Spock and McCoy on his heels.

They draw up short after dashing through two stacks of shipping crates to find themselves standing to the side of a wide-open area near the back of the bay. There's a man on the ground, still screaming, as he tries to fend off a monstrous-looking beast latched onto his leg.

Jim doesn't hesitate. He fires at the creature. The phaser blast sends it tumbling aside, but it rolls back to its feet very quickly and snarls at them before running off.

McCoy gasps, "There!", and points at the end bay where Ruti has somehow scrambled to the top of a shuttlecraft. The ungodly racket around him, Jim realizes, is all snapping and snarling made by a large pack of creatures circling the small vessel. These must be the Scavengers. The fact that they are visible doesn't make Kirk feel any better as he watches them.

Ruti's situation is dire. "Help me!" she cries when she notices them. "Captain, please!"

They can see even from a distance how her face lacks color, her eyes are wide with fear.

Jim Kirk is an honorable man. He doesn't have to like somebody in order to save them. "Spock, you and McCoy move to a position on the opposite side. Phaser set to kill."

"Acknowledged."

"Jim!" McCoy protests even as Spock urges the doctor to return the way they came so the pair can safely skirt around the bay's perimeter without attracting the attention of the creatures.

"The stun barely slowed the thing down, Bones." He orders McCoy, "Now, go!" After the two men retreat, Jim slinks alongside the crates toward where Ruti is trapped, mindful of keeping quiet.

He pauses to mutter a curse under his breath as he comes upon a man laid out on the ground wearing a Starfleet captain's uniform; not far beyond Huido is the patrolman's shopkeeper friend in Science blues. Thankfully, the creatures don't seem interested in the pair at all. Ruti has all their attention. One of the pack leaps halfway up the shuttle, jaws snapping.

"ZAN!" Ruti screams. "CONTROL THEM! YOU HAVE TO TAKE BACK CONTROL!"

_No such luck_, thinks Kirk, since the man who was being mauled by the creature a moment ago clutches at a badly bleeding leg and looks too shell-shocked to be useful. Jim can just make out pitiful cries about betrayal—his wife, his family, his pack.

Kirk starts forward again, only to be slammed back by some invisible force into the crates, knocking some of them over. He almost drops his phaser in the process, overwhelmed by pain lancing through him. For a second, there's a double ring of _Jim!_ resounding in his head.

One of the creatures turns toward him at the commotion, lifting its long snout as if scenting something divine. Jim has a bad feeling that something is him.

He fires just in the nick of time as it leaps for him. It drops to the ground and doesn't get up again.

The moment Jim has his feet under him, the force hits him again. This time he cries out as he goes down—and he suddenly realizes what the purpose of the attack is: more of the creatures stop circling the shuttle to pinpoint his position. Her desperation evident, Ruti is using her power to clash against the shield protecting his mind. As power meets shield, the aftershock rings out, making the Scavengers aware of other prey.

Jim's trying to save her and she's trying to kill him and there is no reconciling those two facts.

But that is a problem for Jim to concern himself with at a later time as the creatures search for him in earnest. He sets a wide dispersal pattern on his phaser, aims, and fires. Some of them are intelligent enough to scatter when some of their packmates die, and that gives Jim enough time to break from his position and dash toward the center of the bay. He sees Spock and McCoy running at him from the other side, breaking their cover at the same time. He can't even fault them for wanting to fight at his side.

"Ruti!" he yells at the woman atop the shuttlecraft. "We can get you out of here but you have to draw them back to you!" He dodges one of the creatures and shoots it, raising his voice to a near-scream. "YOU HAVE TO TRUST ME!"

She's not going to listen. Why would she when they are clearly enemies and even her own kind have no mercy for each other, capable of horrific crimes like letting each other be torn to shreds by savage beasts?

Suddenly McCoy's voice rings out. "Damn you, if you won't trust him, trust me!"

Ruti straightens atop the shuttlecraft. Jim meets Spock and McCoy in the middle of the bay, where they form a triad, he and Spock firing at will at the pack closing in on them.

Jim can feel them now, how agonizingly hungry these animals are, can see it in their jerky movements. They want terribly to rend flesh from bones, to feed on the power of the mind until it sates the hunger. Until, at last, that power is theirs to use to free themselves of a miserable, captive existence. They never chose to be tamed.

"Jim," Spock says, "Leonard, hold on!"

Jim doesn't understand the Vulcan's warning at first. Then he senses why, a maelstrom of power whipping up like a storm from nowhere, coursing over the floor, sparking off some of the electrical circuits in the paneled walls. The power swirls and tugs, eddies forming to work laboriously to drag everything with energy into its main current. But against the shielding Spock has strengthened around them—no, against the _unit_ that comes from Kirk, Spock, and McCoy's selves fitted together so perfectly—it can find no purchase, sliding off that smooth cocoon made from courage and comfort and love. They are safe in the eye of the storm because they are together.

The end of the maelstrom is Ruti, eyes closed, presented as a strangely delicate, serene statue fixed atop the shuttlecraft. The pack instinctively follows the current back to her, even the creatures who had taken to hiding in the long shadows between the towers of crates. They cannot resist.

Jim flips open his communicator, yelling into it, "Kirk to Enterprise! Emergency beam-out!" Coordinates appear in his thoughts, and he doesn't question them, just thanks Spock and repeats them into his communicator.

As the Scavengers begin to claw their way up the shuttlecraft, climbing over each other mindlessly, shredding one another in the process, Ruti opens her eyes. In that moment, she looks like she knows she will die having trusted them to save her and is disappointed in them for that.

Then the transporter effect takes hold, and Ruti vanishes in a swirl of particles.

The Scavengers fall back in confusion. The man with the bleeding leg drags himself upright, expression shocked at first before turning to rage. He sounds the hungriest, Jim thinks, when a scream of denial bursts from him. The wildness in the man's eyes is no different from the creatures'.

He turns on Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, teeth bared.

"He is insane," Spock supplies flatly. "His desire to kill has become theirs, and theirs his."

The Scavengers advance on him from behind. He doesn't seem to notice them. He drags himself toward the Starfleet officers.

"Keptin!" Chekov cries through the communicator, reminding Kirk how short on time they are.

"I need your best skills now, Pavel," Jim says, feeling calmness overtake him despite the present danger. "Six to beam out, humanoid signatures only. Don't bring anything else with us."

Chekov wisely doesn't ask him to clarify that order.

Spock's shielding has them protected this long from external influence, but Ruti's cousin sees them, wants their blood, and soon his pack will too. Unfortunately for him, Jim isn't going to let that happen.

Six men form on the flagship's transporter pad, and in the next instant, Jim leaps into action, hustling McCoy down the platform steps and away from the man who by all accounts is still murderous and poised on the verge of leaping at them even while trying to regain his bearings. At the back of the transporter, Huido and Murtee remain blissfully unaware of the danger they could be in, sprawled out together in repose.

"You'll all die!" screams Ruti's cousin, the Prime, and without ceremony, Spock reaches over and nerve pinches the raving man. Security officers flood into the transporter room just as the man's eyes roll back in his head and he collapses at Spock's feet.

McCoy breaks away from Kirk toward the pale woman standing next to the transporter console with Chekov looking nervous beside her. "Well?" he demands pointedly of her.

"Thank you, Doctor," Ruti whispers.

McCoy pulls Spock's hypospray out of his pocket and jabs it into her arm. Afterward, an alarmed Chekov catches her as she folds to the floor.

When the doctor turns back to Kirk and Spock, he looks grimly satisfied. "Better than she deserves," he says.

Jim grabs the man around the shoulders and hugs him tight, tucking his head into the juncture of McCoy's neck and shoulder. Everyone except Spock politely looks elsewhere.

"Me too, Jim," Leonard agrees with the wordless relief. "Me too."

Once Kirk steps back from McCoy, Spock turns in the direction of Scotty, just arrived with another group of Security. "Notify Port Headquarters of our status and request of Commander Wardyn to lock down the Bantum. No one must be allowed to board the ship until its newest inhabitants are dealt with."

The Chief Engineer nods easily enough, then pauses for a double-take at both Kirk and Spock.

Jim huffs at his queer expression. "Red isn't our color. We know."

"Aye," echoes Scotty. "It really isn't, sir."

It's McCoy who laughs, rocking into Jim's shoulder in his mirth, and Spock who states simply enough, "Illogical."


	11. Epilogue

**Ah, the Epilogue is here! Since Part Ten was posted yesterday, make certain you have read it first.**

* * *

"He's mighty… large," Mr. Scott observes, exiting the control room door at the back of the brig's security area with a few tools in hand, "but we can handle him, Capt'n. As for that one, we installed the energy-dampening shields like Mr. Spock ordered. Although if the commander had not assisted with _building_ the shields to spec, I cannae say the brig would be the best place for somebody like her."

"If anyone can contain her, the Enterprise can," says Jim, confident in his ship and crew.

Back turned, Chee pretends he doesn't notice their attention but occasionally clacks his claws together in irritation like he's thinking about what he would do if he could get a good grip on one of them. He won't have the chance, though. They will make certain of that.

Kirk moves on from Chee's cell to Ruti's.

The woman in question stands in the middle of it. "My Lady?" she asks.

"Recovering. If McCoy approves, she may be able to visit you in a few days." Kirk smiles humorlessly. "Supervised, of course."

"Thank you, Captain Kirk."

"We don't stand on ceremony here."

"Then my gratitude is not welcome?"

He drops the pretense at playing along. "Not by me." Stepping closer to the force field, Kirk lowers his voice. "You hurt my officer. More than that, you hurt my friend. I think it's fair that you should be punished."

Her tone is almost bored. "And what will be my punishment?"

"When we reach our starbase, a legal counselor will explain your rights to you in full. The short version is either we will exile you from Federation space, or you will serve time in a penal colony, or some combination thereof. You didn't kill anyone which is a point in your favor, but you could have and furthermore, you deliberately caused harm, which is against the law the same as kidnapping. Then there's the collateral damage to consider too," he adds grimly. "Yet you are luckier than most. McCoy plans to speak at your hearing and ask the court for leniency because that's the kind of a person he is—a good one. A forgiving one."

"I never asked for mercy."

"Didn't you," he challenges sharply, "when you cried help?" When she doesn't respond, he goes on, "Keep that in mind, Ruti. And no more breaking any rules, not near me. No more tricks."

"You call them 'tricks' but they are part of my very being, Captain. If I demanded of you to stop breathing air and you tried, you would die. Consider it no different for my kind."

"I haven't asked you to hurt yourself, only to restrain from influencing others. In the Federation, to take away a person's agency is a crime. If you want us to stay merciful, you would do well to take heed of that."

Jim cannot tell if he is reaching her or not and in resignation starts to turn away before a thought comes to his mind. "One other thing," he says. "If you want to thank someone, it should be Mr. Chee. He plea-bargained for your Lady. Whatever happens to you and him, she at least will be considered an innocent and have the Federation's protection."

Ruti's face might have been a finely sculpted work of stone. "I have much to think on, Captain."

And Kirk leaves her to do that.

Scotty shakes his head at Kirk's return to his side. "That lass is so fragile-looking. I'm surprised she hasn't tried to change your mind about her accommodations."

"She could quite literally, Mr. Scott, if she tried," intones the First Officer as he enters the security area.

"She is where she belongs," Jim states firmly. "Report, Mr. Spock."

"Dr. McCoy has finished his evaluation of the female patient. The area of the brain which is highly developed in Ruti is not so developed in her, and she lacks the extra organ which appears to absorb and channel pure energy through the body and to the brain. She consented to a light meld, and I confirmed the assessment that her telepathic abilities are minimal. By the Doctor's orders, she will remain confined to the medical bay under surveillance."

"The other one," questions Kirk. "The cousin, how's he?"

"His mental deterioration has progressed rapidly. The Doctor is uncertain of what to do for him." Spock displays an unusual hesitation, then, as if the next subject is not easy to speak of. "The creatures, Jim. It was reported one was captured."

"Wardyn and I spoke about it."

And Jim had felt as disturbed as Wardyn sounded during the report: the port authorities found a single creature left, feeding off the corpses of the others. Yet there was no evidence to suggest that, without a primary focus for their aggression, the Scavengers had gone into a killing frenzy and destroyed each other. No one knows exactly how the beasts died, and the Prime no longer speaks coherently to give sensible replies. During her questioning, Ruti had acted like she knew nothing of the predators from her homeworld except to fear them. She gave no indication of thinking the creatures worth saving.

In truth what should be done with the surviving creature is a topic of debate. For the time being, it remains isolated in an animal-care facility on the station, and Jim is frankly grateful to have one less potential danger aboard his ship.

Kirk and Spock exit the brig together, heading to the nearest turbolift to meet up with McCoy in the transporter room. They have one last duty aboard the spaceport, and Kirk isn't looking forward to it.

As they walk, he asks his companion, "Regulations aside, are we doing the right thing, initiating a first contact with Ruti's race?"

"It would not be logical to define the whole of a race by one person's actions. We must gather facts. And it seems a matter of course to want to greet one's neighbors."

"Some neighbors should be left alone," mutters the captain.

"In this instance, I agree. But it is out of our hands, Jim. Whether we will it so or not, a door has been opened. Eventually someone will desire to step through it."

"Then we must hope what lies on the other side is friendly." And if it isn't, thinks Kirk, they will find a way to deal with that too.

* * *

"It's Captain Kirk!" The man speed-walking toward Kirk acts no different than most of the politicians McCoy has met throughout his life. The fellow snatches up Kirk's hand and enthusiastically pumps it, crying, "Ah, Captain Kirk! The hero of the day!"

Jim has endeavored to learn some tact over the years. Extracting his hand without punching the guy is a win, in McCoy's book.

Jim looks at his two senior officers like he expects to be rescued. When Spock and McCoy don't move, just looking on like they haven't a clue what he wants from them, the captain turns back to the Chief of Port to say with dismay, "Thank you but I can't take all the credit."

"Ah-ah-ah, don't be so modest, Kirk," tuts the Chief of Port, throwing an arm around Jim, spinning them both to face the retinue that had followed the politician into the small auditorium. "Lives were saved today! Imagine the damage those hostiles might have caused if not for your intervention! We owe you and Starfleet a great debt!"

McCoy follows Kirk's sideways glance to a resigned-looking man standing stiffly at the back of the growing crowd. He had introduced himself earlier to Leonard as Wardyn, the officer in charge of the port's security.

"The patrol officers are the heroes," Jim says. "Their assistance was invaluable during the recovery operation."

The Chief of Port stares at him in surprise before recovering to gasp loudly, "Of course! Where's my Head of Security? Wardyn, there you are! Come, come!"

Kirk winks at Wardyn, who looks even more resigned now, and summarily hands over the Chief of Port to him with a few other well-placed words of gratitude. Then Jim hurries back to Spock and McCoy, making urgent little shooing motions.

"Ready to go so soon?" Leonard laughs at the man.

"I signed the paperwork and shook that odious man's hand," growls Kirk. "That's all I can do… unless you want me to stun somebody."

Leonard is still laughing. "_Jim._"

A narrow-eyed Kirk lays a hand on the phaser tucked into his belt.

Spock contacts the ship right away.

* * *

Two days later, the door slides back to McCoy's office to admit Kirk and Spock. Recent events have finally taken their toll on the doctor and he feels utterly exhausted. But at their entrance, weary or not, he rises from behind his desk to greet them.

Jim makes a quick assessment of Leonard before leading him to the short couch in the small private section of his office. "You look terrible, Bones." And Jim doesn't seem happy about that, along with a few other things. "I don't recall giving my permission for your return to duty."

All thoughts of admitting he could use some rest fly out of his head. "Patients don't stop needing attention, Captain." And he's finding it difficult to fall asleep, afraid he might wake up to find himself somewhere else with no memory of how he got there. Ruti sure did a number of him and he knows it, even though on paper he has passed his psychological evaluation.

"But do they require your attention?" Spock asks, peering at Leonard from over Jim's shoulder. "Dr. M'Benga seems perfectly capable of monitoring their progress."

M'Benga is, and Leonard can't say otherwise lest it seems like he doubts the man's abilities when the truth is it has nothing to do with the other doctor. Leonard would rather spend his energy worrying about somebody else than himself, and so here he is in his office.

Damn Spock for knowing that too, the crafty Vulcan.

"Jim," Leonard tries but Kirk warns him not to press the matter further with a simple shake of his head. Slumping against the armrest, Leonard settles on what he can do: fixing his friends with his most irritable glare.

Except his glare must be tired and weak too. It has no effect on either man.

Jim sits beside him on the couch while Spock remains standing and takes the doctor's hand in his own. Leonard knows a lecture is coming and rolls his eyes, already bored with it.

To his surprise, Jim says, "I think you owe us a little compassion, Bones. We've been scared for you."

Displeasure melts to guilt and Leonard hunches his shoulders a little more. "What I owe you is an apology."

"Bones."

"No, let me say this. It's my fault." He hurries on to explain as Jim tenses with protest, "I failed to be cautious when I ought to have known better, and that's a fatal flaw in a Starfleet officer." He swallows hard. "I saw somebody who needed help, acted on it, and I just… I didn't consider the ramifications for the rest of you until it was too late. I'm asking your forgiveness because I'm as selfish as I am idiotic and I don't want to be anywhere else except here, with you on the Enterprise. But I know you're disappointed in me, Jim… both of you are. I know that, and I'm sorry."

"Bones." Jim pulls him into a gentle hug. "There's nothing to forgive. You can't blame yourself for what happened."

Leonard huffs against Jim's shoulder, blinking until the wet sheen over his eyes recedes. "Didn't you hear a word I said? I'm not self-flagellating enough to believe Ruti kidnapping me is all my fault. I'm saying I made a poor judgment call. I know I could have done better, could have paid closer attention to figure out what she was up to."

"I do not see how, Doctor," Spock says. "You speak as if your kidnapper was someone whose motives could easily be anticipated. Ruti was unpredictable and furthermore entirely unknown. To make use of one of your sayings, the deck was stacked against you from the beginning. Therefore the reasoning behind why you have fault is quite illogical."

Leonard pulls back from Jim to glare up at the Vulcan. "This is not the time for your blasted logic, Spock! Or do you want me to say it's _your_ fault!"

Spock's head dips ever-so-slightly. "That may be more accurate. I was the one who lost sight of you at the station."

Leonard is gaping at him one second and in the next, on his feet, furious. "Why, you—_I_ lost you! On purpose! There's not a damn thing you did wrong!"

"Why did you remove yourself from my company?"

Leonard's speech falters a moment. "I didn't understand why you were so interested."

"Then you admit I am indirectly at fault for the situation."

Leonard wants to shake sense into Spock, but it'd never get past his thick skull. "If you say that one more time, I'll knock that martyrdom right out of you!"

Jim stands up as if he thinks he might be needed to stop McCoy from making the attempt.

"If I cannot blame myself for a mistake, Dr. McCoy, then in the spirit of fairness, neither should you be blamed for your mistake."

Leonard always imagined logical thinking to be synonymous with straightforward thinking but Spock excels at being the most roundabout logical being in the galaxy. Flustered and exasperated, Leonard doesn't know how to argue against him. Worse yet, he hates not having the last word.

"As your captain, I have the final say," Jim declares because naturally the last word goes to Jim if it doesn't go to Spock. "I transmitted my command log to Headquarters yesterday, and it's an expert opinion that no Starfleet officer bears fault in this incident." Jim's eyes gleam. "I might have thrown around a few commendations too."

Leonard crosses his arms over his chest. "Whose expert opinion?"

"Mine and Spock's."

"Jim, you're incorrigible."

"I'm right."

"I suppose those two things mean the same to you."

Jim drapes an arm across the doctor's shoulders. "Have you eaten, Bones?"

"He has not."

"Tracking my meals, you nosy Vulcan? That's a blatant abuse of authority," he chastises.

"The well-being of this ship's senior officers is my prerogative, Doctor."

"No, only the _Captain_ is the First Officer's—"

"Ah, Bones," Jim interrupts him, smiling fondly, "you know there's no changing Spock's mind about his duties."

Leonard harrumphs and mutters his opinion of Vulcan stubbornness under his breath.

Spock doesn't seem offended by it. He informs Kirk and McCoy, "I have taken the liberty of placing an order with the kitchen staff for our dinner. If you prefer a private venue, I should like to offer my quarters."

Jim's smile widens. Had he been anticipating the offer? wonders McCoy.

They must be up to something. Leonard can figure that much out even if he doesn't know exactly what they're planning.

His stomach, however, has the unfortunate timing of making the decision over his participation for him, growling vocally now someone other than McCoy is around to pay attention to its needs.

"Spock's place," Jim decides and guides McCoy into the corridor with the Vulcan in close attendance.

As they traverse the deck, McCoy notices many crewmen curiously pausing a moment to watch them stroll by. However no officer actively tries to stall or delay them with conversation beyond a perfunctory greeting.

That's just as well, decides the doctor, because he indulges in a distraction right now, he might lose his resolve to start a conversation with Jim and Spock about personal aspects of their encounter with Ruti that were surely not included in the report to Command. No admiral would want to know about Leonard's captor's claims regarding three prominent flagship officers being in love or to learn the extent to which Spock's unique Vulcan talents assisted in McCoy's safe return. No doubt any such mentions would be immediately redacted and then driven out of the reader's head with plenty of alcohol.

No, those particular matters must be addressed separately and without an audience.

Leonard can't say he is particularly looking forward to it, yet ironically at the same time he holds the sincere hope the discussion goes in his favor.

He sneaks a glance at Jim and Spock, wondering if the hope could be mutual.

They arrive at Spock's cabin door. Kirk goes inside first and then Leonard, ushered forward by the lightest graze of fingers at his back. A thought comes to him, soothing and without doubt and, as always, pointedly logical: hope is the natural course for love.

Jim doesn't ask why Leonard is flushed, just touches his cheek briefly as he says, "You always look after us. This time, let Spock and I look after you."

And how can a man deny such a heartfelt request?

* * *

"Is it odd," Leonard says some time later after the meal wraps up and he, Spock, and Jim are just wiling away time together over an after-dinner drink, "that I think Ruti could make a difference among her people?"

"Being optimistic isn't odd, Bones."

"Normally I'd say it's a pipe dream. She didn't want to consider any alternatives or to negotiate, not really. But we showed her living isn't always about fighting, and surely that means something."

"It does make a difference," Spock agrees. "Your people are an example of that, as are mine—and many others in the Federation. But to act differently requires a choice. We have done what we can. The rest will depend on what she learned, and the message she shares with her world's leaders if she chooses to share one at all."

She could easily bargain for exile, return to her homeworld to take her cousin's place as Clan Prime, all without having learned a damn thing. At that thought, he finishes his drink in one go. Then he toys with the empty glass, frowning.

"Something else on your mind?" Jim asks, deciding to watch him instead of enjoying the rest of his own drink.

Where to start? It would be simpler if they still had the luxury of being mind-linked because Leonard is good at feeling emotions but not necessarily at expressing them.

He tries anyway. "I suppose I understand myself a little better than I did before… everything happened. I think _she_ understood me even if I didn't at the time."

"How so?" Spock questions in an even tone when Leonard doesn't immediately elaborate.

"The megastore and the bar," he says, "remember? When Ruti said she hadn't been fooled at all, I thought she let your antics play out because of a mean kind of curiosity. Now I think," he concludes, voice quieter, "she saw two men willing to fight for someone they loved. Out of respect for that, she let them."

"Was that her true reason?" Jim asks.

Leonard shrugs. "Who could say for certain. But she was fighting too because she loved somebody."

A small smile tugs at the corners of Kirk's mouth. He neither confirms nor denies anything else McCoy is implying. Spock is suspiciously silent, too, for having been so unrepentantly affectionate on the space station.

Leonard sets his empty tumbler down with the grumble, "I'm warning you now, I've never had the patience of a saint."

"Wait just a while longer," Jim encourages him, eyes twinkling. "Spock and I had a plan. We still do."

Strangely enough, Leonard is mollified. After all, there isn't much any of them can deny after having lived in each other's heads for hours, is there?

And Ruti's remarks had been as matter-of-fact as they could be bitter and disapproving. When she said they loved each other, she was speaking a simple truth.

Yes, Leonard can wait a few more days for the dust to settle. The three of them aren't going anywhere—except, that is, back to shore leave.

* * *

When McCoy had said he had a purpose to return to the station, he hadn't been asking for an entourage. But this is what he gets for his trouble of being forthright and earnest, and nobody in their right mind would be happy about having upwards of a dozen officers in tow for what amounts to a quick shopping trip.

He doesn't understand why those from Security look so uncomfortably tense (the danger is over! the villains are caught!), or why Uhura and Chekov are stuck to his sides like glue with Sulu taking up the rear guard, or how it is even possible Scotty could decide to let the Enterprise's engines out of his sight for any length of time.

The main reason Spock and Jim haven't made nuisances of themselves too is that Leonard flat-out refused their company and told them to stay home, essentially, or forget about any 'future plans' they kept teasing him about. Upset by this, Jim might have pulled the captain card had Spock not suddenly decided (based on no factual evidence Leonard can discern) that the doctor's purpose in denying them escort privileges is due to _them_ being the reason for the last-minute shopping venture. Jim had instantly wanted to know what kind of presents McCoy had in mind for him. In response, Leonard had flicked the big baby on the forehead and let Uhura kick the two idiots out of the transporter room.

Being resigning to a very long wait while all his many, many minders arranged themselves into transporting parties is a small price to pay in McCoy's experience for Jim and Spock to accept not tagging along. Get kidnapped one time, and people never leave you on your own again.

Therefore the sooner the Enterprise puts distance and time between them and this port, the better for Leonard—after making a few memorable purchases, of course.

Jim had looked like an absolute lunatic in that tourist wear. Leonard tells Uhura, Chekov, and Sulu this with a gleeful tone while he rifles through a rack of atrociously designed t-shirts. His coworkers gasp in delight at the idea of their captain wearing more terrible (and terribly funny) outfits and so spend the afternoon helping Leonard select an entire civilian wardrobe for Kirk. The look on the man's face will be priceless when he next opens his closet, and Leonard can't wait. Also, because Jim is a lovable idiot who thinks of his crew like family, he will wear the clothes with pride.

Uhura leans into the doctor surreptitiously to whisper, "Stop tearing up. Somebody might think you're buying for your husband instead of your best friend."

"The day I marry a bonehead like Jim Kirk is the day pigs fly."

Sulu leans around his other side to say dryly, "I know a planet that has flying pigs."

Chekov pops up behind from a bargain bin several clothes racks over, wearing half the things he has picked out. "Who's getting married!" he exclaims.

McCoy flings a hat with flaps at the kid's head. "Nobody!"

"But just a few days ago you were clutching Mr. Spock—"

Leonard pitches a sandal next. Chekov dodges it nimbly and shuts up.

"Ooh," Uhura says, her eyes glittering. "Do tell, McCoy."

Leonard is going to die from embarrassment. No, hold on, he's going to kill that snitch Chekov first and then he can die of embarrassment. Why, oh why, did he ever think it wouldn't backfire in some spectacular way to hold onto Spock?

And Spock has basically said Leonard is allowed to do it again.

Leonard ignores Uhura's prodding and Sulu's motioning Scotty away from the superstore's buffet snack bar to join in for this oh-so-fun tale and instead resolutely pretends to try on sun visors to hide a blush.

"There are appetizers on the food bar that move," Scotty remarks as he comes over, grinning. "Who's up for a challenge?"

"Twenty credits if it crawls," Sulu answers promptly. "Thirty if it has appendages."

"Save your money for your medical bill," Leonard advises. "I heard the ward here is subpar and still expensive."

Sulu and Scotty just stare at him before wandering over to the nearest security team to find out who else wants to join their grand adventure.

Uhura's laughter is light and genuine. "This is why we usually come down in smaller groups for shore leave. Stupidity compounds quickly."

"Spock won't be sad to miss it but Jim will."

The woman slants a look his way. "I have a confession, Dr. McCoy."

There is no galaxy in which Nyota Uhura can say that and not make a man nervous. "Oh?" he queries after clearing his throat.

"I'm a double agent." She smiles too sweetly. "And you're about to get kidnapped again."

He can only stare at her dumbly until that announcement sinks in. Then he shoves all the items he wanted to buy Jim into his shopping cart and demands, "What part of 'a trip without you' don't those two knuckleheads understand! Where are they hiding, Lieutenant? I've got a bone to pick!"

She signals Chekov over to give the young man dominion over the shopping cart and then steers Leonard toward the store's exit. When a few Security men try to follow, she freezes them where they stand with one look.

Jim and Spock are waiting outside the superstore, one smiling and the other seeming like he might have something to regret.

"Here is your doctor, Captain," Uhura tells Kirk as she gives Leonard a slight push toward the pair.

"Well done, Uhura," Kirk praises her. "We'll personally look after him and return him to the ship safe and sound. Inform the others to be at ease."

Uhura leaves them with an accepting nod.

Jim slides an arm under Leonard's elbow, offering Leonard a look usually reserved for the moments when the fairer sex bats their eyelashes at him. "Bones, don't be too angry. This was the best way to surprise you."

"I should have known," Leonard says. "Well? This can't be the whole plan. Where are you stealing me off to?"

Jim passes Leonard to Spock, who guides the doctor with a gentle touch to his lower back into crossing the thoroughfare.

Leonard huffs but goes willingly. "By the way, one of you might want to lend me a communicator."

"Why?"

"So I can tell my nurses to prep some stomach pumps. Scotty started an eating contest without taking note of the food-grade by the entrance."

"Not again," Jim sighs, as Spock wordlessly hands over his communicator.

* * *

Leonard is a sentimental fool, and Jim and Spock are romantics.

The doctor leans against the railing of the port's public observatory. "So your intentions were honorable, huh, Spock?" He looks over at the Vulcan silhouetted by starlight. "Is courtship something Vulcans do?"

"Not in the strictest sense of the word. Most matches are pre-arranged and the pair bonded at a young age. They are then allowed to come to know each other over the course of several decades before choosing whether or not to proceed with the formal marriage ceremony."

"Your parents must have been the exception," Jim says, looking past Leonard to Spock.

"Naturally. They met off-world and fell in love."

"I wonder which has the better outcome," Leonard muses.

"I would assert that I am biased," Spock responds as if the comment is meant to be answered, "as I have only my own experiences to draw from. However, it seems to me the freedom to choose the one you might love should be preferred."

"Is that what we're doing?" Leonard asks. "Selecting each other?"

Jim squeezes McCoy's waist. "I think the point is we don't have to choose. Spock and I worked that out already."

"Jim felt uncertain over the equity of affections. I was aware of his concern, of course, from the moment he proposed the arrangement and assumed some demonstration would be required to convince him it was not an issue."

Jim huffs out a laugh. "When your thoughts are telling me how much you like me, Spock, why shouldn't I believe it?"

Leonard rolls his eyes. "Of course it never occurred to either of you to just _say_ you liked the other."

Spock cocks an eyebrow. "We agreed that we liked you."

"Watch it," blusters Leonard, "I haven't said it back!"

Neither man appears to take his threat very seriously. And of course Leonard already knows he is head over heels for them. Love isn't an easy thing to undo.

"Bones, you make me very happy," Jim says because he's a sap who is unashamed of being one.

Leonard likes to think he is the toughest of the three, but the truth is he's too soft under his prickly interior not to melt when somebody says something sappy to him.

So he gives Jim a little nudge, and Jim understands what it means and also says, "Spock, you make me very happy too."

"Yes, as you have informed me previously, Jim, on the way to pick up Leonard and before that, when we decided to confess to him, and before that, during the mind-meld."

"A simple 'thank you' would've done," Leonard complains. "Jim, is he being smug or sassy? I can't tell."

"Both. As Spock explains it, by merging our minds together, we exchanged the Vulcan equivalent of engagement rings."

"What! We haven't even dated yet! I can't be engaged!" Leonard barely manages to extricate his arm from Jim's hold to stab a finger under the Vulcan's nose. Spock blinks at it. "What the hell other weird cultural differences do we not know about, Spock!"

"How much time do you have?" quips the Vulcan, and only Jim bursting out in laughter saves Spock from Leonard's wrath.

Kirk tugs both Spock and McCoy back from the railing and toward the walkway that leads to the main lift. "Come along, gentlemen. That Chief of Port was good for something after all. We have dinner reservations at the fanciest joint in town."

Leonard is content to give his troublesome Vulcan a short reprieve from his temper for a chance at a decent meal. "Fancy means not replicated. Count me in, Jim."

As they return to the main thoroughfare, McCoy notes the port has a nightlife that seems busier than the daytime tourism. The crowds aren't exactly friendly-looking but he is safe given the company he's in, and he is confident that at least today will become good memories to supersede any unpleasant ones.

They are passing by a storefront when something in its display window catches Leonard's eye. Jim and Spock stop walking when he pauses there to look more closely into the window.

"You want to go in?" Jim asks, moving to stand beside him. "We have a few minutes."

Spock circles to McCoy's other side to stare at the display, and it's gratifying that the Vulcan seems as deeply interested in what has caught McCoy's attention as the first time they had visited the area. Some things haven't changed, it seems, and those things that have, changed for the better.

McCoy shakes his head slightly, going on gut instinct not to say anything about the object in the window, the very twin to the outdated medkit Chee had thrown into his hands some days ago. "No, I'm good."

The store's entrance bounces open as a group of customers exuberantly spill out to the street, arms full of purchases, chattering among themselves. Someone lingers behind them looking smug, likely the shop owner.

Jim takes one look at the fellow in the doorway, pales, and swiftly pivots Spock and McCoy to face away just in time to avoid catching the shopkeeper's attention.

"_Move_," Jim orders them with a harried whisper and starts pushing them doggedly in the opposite direction without waiting.

The shopkeeper shrugs and steps back into the store, calling out to some helper or other, "Barters Above, put that jar down, you big lump! Those nougats are for customers!"

When Leonard digs in his heels several blocks down, he demands, "Jim, let up already, the restaurant is the other way! What's with you?"

Jim shakes himself from head to toe and starts wheezing with amused relief like a man who just dodged a fatal phaser blast.

Concerned, Leonard looks him over before turning to Spock for an explanation. The Vulcan suggests, "We may be better served to conclude our shore leave aboard the Enterprise."

"Yeah," agrees Jim, trying and failing to look like he is merely okay with the idea and not utterly thrilled. "Absolutely. Before another problem comes up."

Leonard has a feeling he has missed something just now but it can wait. After all, Jim has just said the words Leonard has wanted to hear for the entirety of their friendship.

A grin breaks across his face. "Did my ears just trick me, Jim, or are you actively stating you don't want any trouble?"

Jim opens his mouth, closes it again, and ends up smiling faintly. "I think I have all the trouble I can handle right here," he says, laying one hand against McCoy's back and then the other hand on Spock's shoulder.

"Who're you calling trouble?" retorts an indignant Leonard.

"Objectively speaking, neither Leonard nor I have entertained as many troubles as you have, Jim."

Amusement settles into Kirk's expression, a sparkle lighting his eyes. "That's certain to change."

"Oh lord," Leonard says with finality. "Spock, he thinks we're challenging him to get us into trouble more often!"

"I am well aware of how Jim's mind works, Leonard, just as I know you appreciate being included in his adventures."

"Lies!" Leonard pokes the Vulcan's collarbone, taking a perverse pleasure in being able to do so. That will teach Spock to declare he feels perfectly okay with being touched!

Spock captures his finger and refuses to release it until Leonard's face reddens.

"Gentlemen, may I remind you that we're in public," Jim purrs, tugging the men closer to him despite that the foot traffic has long-since adjusted to move around their blocking of the sidewalk. Most passers-by don't seem interested in making eye contact with their drama.

Leonard points across the street to a drone flitting around, remarking dryly, "If we're not careful, we'll be on the _news_."

Spock blinks, looks up, and informs them in his most matter-of-fact tone, "We likely already are."

When Jim and Leonard snap their heads back, the news drone hovering over them widens is its singular camera lens like a naughty child caught at eavesdropping. Then it speeds off.

Kirk pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. McCoy wets his bottom lip. Spock resolutely flips open a communicator and asks the Enterprise to fetch them home expediently.

Tomorrow, headlines and speculation will take the spaceport—and later on, the galaxy—by storm. The Chief of Port will choke on his morning coffee; two best friends will share that jar of nougats and congratulate themselves on their role in the happily-ever-after; Wardyn will take that desperately needed vacation with his wife; and, lastly, the crew of the USS Enterprise, all of whom will seem hardly shocked compared to everyone else, shall happily comply with their captain's orders to disregard the paparazzi and reboard the ship so that they can leave port.

_Captain Kirk Spotted On A Date After Fight With Mind Invaders!_

_Footage of Starfleet's Most Famous Officer And His Paramours!_

_Eyewitnesses Claim Kirk-Spock-McCoy Romance Inevitable!_

And the best headline shall appear after an emergency convening of those with the most at stake regarding this new development, born of days of teeth-gnashing, of heated and tearful disagreements, and sad social media posts:

_Fans Demand Wedding of the Century As Compensation for Kirk's Lost Bachelorhood!_

An entertained Leonard McCoy saves every one of them in his private memory album, to be shared at a future date with his some-day husbands.

**The End**


End file.
